Nana's Nightgowns

Growing up, a trip to my Nana and PapPap's was always a treat. My grandfather owned a one-man feed and grain brokerage that he ran from an office in his basement. Nana was his "secretary" and they shared a huge two-person desk, facing each other. So for me and Beth, there was always lots of playing "office." Typewriters to peck on with fingers we pretended were graced with long, painted nails (secretaries always had well-manicured nails); stamps with rotating month/day/year that we'd press onto ink pads and then date our correspondence; order pads with two sheets sandwiching a waxy, purple page of mimeograph paper so that we'd have duplicates of all orders placed; chunky, black rotary dial phones with square clear plastic buttons in a row under the dial that lit up depending on which line you were on; a big adding machine with a roll of paper. And all of it scented of PapPap's pipe tobacco, adding to the allure of being grown up and running a business.

Upstairs in the dining room, their coat closet housed a toy box, filled with old toys from our dad's childhood as well as random items that Nana and PapPap would buy or be given (an occasional can coozie or toothpick dispenser) that never fell into the toy category, but would always bring squeals of delight simply because it was new to the box. But the best part of the toy box were Nana's nightgowns. We called them negligees back then. There was nothing Victoria's Secret about them. They were all rather plain and mumu-like. But it was the fabric . . . that wonderful, flowy polyester, usually at least two layers of it. And the pastel candy colors, and satin ribbon trim, maybe even embroidered flower appliques. They were magic to us, so easy to play princess when there's lot of dreamy fabric to sashay from side to side. There was always an equally enchanting assortment of hi-heels to wear.

We'd walk the driveway in our negligees and heels, a pocketbook in the crooks of our arms, and play dress-up for hours. Out in front of the house there were two graceful mimosa trees and we'd climb them as high as we could go, sitting on the branches in our Nana gowns, hi-heels dangling. Oh what the neighbors must have thought.

When I found out that I was having a girl, the first thing I did was start a dress-up trunk. By the time Harleigh was old enough to want to play dress-up, I brought out the tub chocked full of heels, gloves, old prom gowns, purses, and . . . you bet, lots of vintage nightgowns. They were always her favorite to wear. For all the same reasons that we adored them.

This past weekend when shopping at the thrift store I came across this one and bought it to add to the dress-up trunk (never even thought of doing away with it once Harleigh grew out of dress-up play). I figure that if I have a granddaughter (or two or three), then I will grow a tradition as sweet as the one my Nana made for me.