Molly ‘n Me (a Valentine)

By Darin Lowery

Molly is the only woman I know who can go to a fancy-dress party (hair high, neckline low), grab her Craftsman power drill from the back of her truck, and fix the host’s garage door. Then, ladylike, wipe her hands on the back of her cocktail dress and join the other guests. I adore that about her.

Molly, perky at nine in the morning, says, “We have to decide what our Retail Spring Colors will be for the shop…. got any ideas?”

“Black,” I mutter. Nine a.m. is so early.“Aw, come on! Let’s pick something bright, and we’ll do the whole shop in it!”

“Black and, oh… I don’t know. Black. That’s it- black and black.”

“Spring colors, Darin! Spring! Happy-Happy!”

“Molly”, I groan, “I am trying to read the Copper Country News. Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ made page one again-“

“Please, don’t start. Let’s just run over to the Country Kitchen and get some waffles-“

I laugh. “Hey! The newspaper should buy the restaurant and call it the Copper Country Kitchen! ‘Table for two? God Bless You’.”

I moved to Globe five years ago from Mesa; Molly arrived a few weeks later. She and a business partner- an older woman who favored 1980’s tropical prints- opened ‘Seasons Gifts & Antiques’ in the old Cubitto’s building downtown. It was a sweet store, made so by Molly’s grinding work and her uncanny attention to detail. The shop was filled with shab furniture, fab florals and the delicate scent of exotic candles. We spent a lot of nights there, laughing like teenagers as we tore the shop apart every three months (hence, the name) and with her vision alone, transformed it into a retail version of Home.

The business partner, suffering from a short attention span, wanted out. Seasons came to an end, as seasons do, and Molly moved her shop further south on Broad Street to the Center for the Arts, now calling it The White Porch. We did a few radio ads announcing the new location, always busting each other up (“I do not have hair growing out of my ears!”). The ads were fun- the whole studio thing at KIKO Radio very NASA, 1963- and I’d like to think we sounded fresh and natural.

We grab burgers and malts at George’s, yakking nonstop about all the things that make life silly, sappy or sad. Lounging in a booth and peering over her menu, she says, “I’m so glad you waited until after your friend from Chicago left today before you started giggling.”

“I thought she was hurt!” I reply. “She staggered up to my door like a pack of rabid javelinas were chasing her-“

“Yeah,” she continues, “and then she says, ‘How can you people live here? The sidewalks aren’t even level!’”

“-and then you go, ‘Well no wonder- you’re wearing six inch heels!’”

Giggling, Molly snorts, “I love how she said, ’But they’re Jimmy Choos!’, and then we both said-“

“’God Bless You!’”

The next morning, I’m trying to talk on the phone: the dogs are barking, and Molly has the radio on- loud- in the shower. I bang on the door. “Molly! Can you turn the music down, please? I’m on the phone with-“

The door opens, and she stands in a soft green towel, shaking her head. Her skin is luminescent. “I don’t have the radio on. That was me, singing.”

“Stop. It was what’s-her-name… the blind one, with the big nose and frosted hair-“

“Nope. Me. Sorry.” She closes the door and resumes, softer now, humming.

I rap my knuckles impatiently. “Molly, we must fly to New York immediately and get you a recording contract worth millions!”

The door opens a crack. Her eyes are crinkly. “God Bless You!”

Molly lived with me in my little stucco house for awhile. Because she thrives on coffee and cell phone conversation, working non-stop in her shop and studio, she was rarely home, while I tend to write late at night in my underwear. She was a genial roommate, and she occasionally cooked- something I’ve always considered dangerous, what with blue flames and boiling stuff on top of the… whatchamacallit. Stove. Whatever.

Her primary business is the creation and manufacture of copper ornaments and specialty objects, and the designs are clever, organic and Globe-centric. They are one of a kind, ranging from clear copper confections to those with a heavy patina and almost cellular striations. She’s even been working on a ‘recycled’ look lately, with fun designs cut from soda cans. I have two on my bathroom shelf, next to a rubber ducky and my .357 Magnum.

Lots of people thought we were married (‘I just love your wife- she’s so bubbly!’), but we set the record straight. She has her boyfriend, and I have mine.

“You’re wearing yourself out, Bonboncita. Way too much running around, and not enough caffeine. Let’s go for Vida E for coffee-“

“Can we do it Tuesday? We have rehearsal for the play, and then a planning committee for the Benefit. I need lag bolts, too, and then we hang art in the gallery-“

“Who’s Art?”

“So cute! Love you- bye”. And then she’s gone.

An old axiom says if you want to judge a person’s character, watch the reactions of kids and dogs. She has never once cracked wise about my Yellow Lab’s OCD, even though the dog has to spin exactly five times before sitting down. The dog is a joke waiting to be told.

As for youngsters, they visit the White Porch daily to see Molly. These are not kids with charge cards: they come simply to talk with her about what’s important in their lives. Sometimes she has tasks for them, and she pays them. Their relationships are special and honest in the things that are shared and felt. Molly listens and understands. She doesn’t talk down to them, and she won’t make promises she can’t keep. And best yet, she will never ignore them. Molly has never ignored anyone.

Molly is the best of all of us; what is deep in our hearts, what we can be if we just let ourselves love. It’s always about love.

Happy Valentine’s Day, Bonboncita.

And God Bless You, Molly.