Friday thing : metal clover

Probably lucky, definitely charming

Full disclosure: I am not at all sure if this memory of me & my grandpa is entirely true, or if it’s a combination of a few different real memories, but the tangible Thing remains and I smile every time I see it.

When I was 6 or 7 years old, I went to the Washington State Fair (informally called The Puyallup¹ Fair² by everyone on the west side of the state) with my grandparents. I don’t recall looking at all of the farm animals and craft entries though I’m sure we did; we were expert fairgoers, admiring all areas of the grounds + the work that went into them.³ Eventually, however, my grandpa & I broke off to wander through the vendors’ hall, that mostly magical/sometimes intimidating sprawling city of commercial booths every fair offers. There was the enticing fresh kettle corn tent (FREE SAMPLES!), the interactive massage tool demonstration or the Touch of Mink people with their enchantingly soft soap⁴ & gentle hand wash that I looked forward to each year, plus the fast-talking carnival-style peddlers of AMAZING juicers or FUTURISTIC frying pans or UNBELIEVABLE [insert obscure/likely fictional type of metal] knife sets.⁵

After we were suitably entertained in that area, we moved on to the local artists selling their landscape paintings & photos, handmade jewelry (a lot of turquoise and shells…hello 1970s), fascinating woodworks, and the ubiquitous caricature drawings. But I was drawn to a man etching names onto metal charms with a handtool. At that point, I could still never find my whole name on any souvenirs - it was either Steph or Stephie or it didn’t exist at all.⁶ My grandpa offered to buy me one and I have no memory of choosing, it’s possible there were no options, but suddenly the man was asking my name while hovering his etching tool over a metal four-leaf clover. I told him, he looked questioningly at my grandpa who repeated it with his lingering Okie drawl then started to spell it. The man began etching a cursive Ste in the middle of the clover. He paused upon realizing there were so many letters left in Stephanie. I think I was holding my breath, hoping he would either trash that one and start over or somehow pull my whole name together in the space left, anything but hand me a charm with a nickname only close family was allowed to use.

Here is where I can’t be at all sure that the movie in my mind matches reality, but I do know that whether or not my grandpa actually looked at me before telling the man my whole name again and repeating the spelling, I felt like he did. I knew that my grandpa understood I was hoping for something I couldn’t find anywhere else, and he was going to get it for me. He waited patiently for the work to be done, for my name to be complete, then he paid the man and handed it to me. It was still warm from the etching tool. I ran my finger over the raised text and smiled. My whole name was there, basically. At least enough to know what it is, and what it’s not.

I think there’s a case to be made for those last few bumps being nie

I kept it in my pocket the rest of the day, checking on it often with my fingertips and rubbing it like a talisman. My grandpa had often given me things: Lifesavers,⁷ spare change from his pocket, bottles of pop from his Coke machine and odd items left behind in cars delivered to his wrecking yard. But I don’t remember ever going to a store where he would buy something for me unsolicited; this was an occasion. Somehow he knew that this cheap little token engraved with my name, one I loved then hated then came back to loving, would feel special that day.

And he was right though it has lasted more than one day - my clover charm has been hanging on its raggedy once-white-now-grey ribbon in every car I’ve driven since 1985.

This Sunday my grandpa would have turned 106; I can hear him wondering, loudly (with a lot of colorful curse words) why I would hang onto something so silly. Then I would ask him, the junk man many people on our island still remember, who he thinks I got that from.

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1. It’s not as hard to pronounce as it looks - start with “pew” then “al” like the name [or “awl” is okay] then “up”

2. …and you would “Do” it. Good luck getting that song out of your head; it’s been in mine for almost 50 years.

3. Plus it was a nearly 3-hour drive from our town so we were going to get our time & money’s worth.

4. I finally bought a bundle of bars with babysitting money years later and while it was still very soft and smelled nice, it wasn’t quite as enchanting at home.

5. I lived in mildly exhilarating fear that I would be chosen to go onstage and help demonstrate the miraculous qualities of these products.

6. I appreciate that nine letters is a lot to cram onto a pin or bookmark or bike license plate but they usually managed Elizabeth so… #SideEye

7. He called them his “cigarettes” because he had used them to quit smoking. This made for some raised eyebrows when I would run up to him in public as a kid and ask for a cigarette.