I spent the last week canceling travel plans. Plans for big events like weddings and reunions. It made me sad.
I wonder when travel will become something that is easy again…something carefree…something to look forward to with a spirit of adventure and no trepidation. And so, to take my mind off this sad thought, I did what I have been doing a lot of these days—housekeeping.
As I was dusting, I took a good look at Miss Piggy. I have had her since I was about ten, but I’ve never taken the time to really see her. She’s cute, isn’t she? And yes, Miss Piggy is a she. The eyelashes say it all.
Miss Piggy was a gift to my maternal grandmother from my Uncle Harry, her eldest. I am now Piggy’s guardian, a duty I take seriously, as she is more than a lump of clay or a place to save pennies. She is a legacy.
Uncle Harry was a civil engineer, the first in our family to get an advanced education, a WWII Air Corps vet, a martini drinker, and an explorer. As a child, I wore thin the postcards he sent to us from exotic locales like Hawaii, Australia, South America, and England where he built bridges and roads. He brought Miss Piggy, I think, to my grandmother from Mexico, maybe in a canvas rucksack, maybe in a leather valise.
According to the online resource Collectors Weekly, piggy banks get their name from an orange-colored clay called pygg. Pygg was used to make every-day storage jars in England, and in the 1700s someone had the inspired idea of a visual pun, shaping pygg into a pig and adding a slot. Today, piggy banks have a stopper in the bottom to remove the coins, but early banks, like Miss Piggy, were to be filled up and then smashed to retrieve the treasure.
I saved coins in Miss Piggy as a child, and, truth be told, there were days when we needed that money to pay for school lunch. Mom would insert a butter knife into Miss Piggy’s slot, shaking and tilting her upside down until a coin fell out. My bank is no longer needed as a source of revenue, but as an indispensable connection to heritage, warmhearted memories, and a smidge of intrigue. What secrets does Miss Piggy keep? What comings and goings has she witnessed with those lovely eyes? To what places in this wide world has she journeyed?
As I return Miss Piggy to her shelf, a jingle-jangle suggests a bit of change escaped Mom’s poking and prodding. Curious, I grab my own butter knife and fish for a coin. No easy task! At last, I snag a penny minted in 1967. I was seven, waiting for the next post card from my oh-so-worldly uncle.
I give Miss Piggy one final swipe with the dust rag and set her back on the kitchen shelf where she spies on me and my mundane task, mixing a batch of banana bread.
Oh, Miss Piggy, Charlotte may have woven a magical web, but you…you have woven dreams and conjured thoughts that whisk me away.
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I have a piggy bank too. Mine is much newer than yours. Baby sister bought it for me when they did their senior class trip to Valley Fair near Minneapolis. She sits in my kitchen cupboard and collects spare change. It gets emptied at church when there is noisy collection Sunday.
I wonder if all stories that go along with piggy banks are so magical? Lucky you and lucky piggy bank and lucky church.
Isn’t it strange how inanimate objects are so capable of storing memories? That must be why we keep them, to preserve special memories ready for review when our own memories begin
to become cloudy as we age. Some of mine are stored in a small white bank, shaped like a treasure chest, one of two my parents got for their two new sons at the Chicago World’s Fair, held there in 1933. This was a colossal event: “The city’s 1933–34 World’s Fair came at the height of the Great Depression with the heartening theme “A Century of Progress.” It showcased modern forms of transportation — trains and automobiles — and “Homes of Tomorrow.”” My father’s aunt lived in Chicago, so she may have bought these little banks for the newly arrived Moberg boys. The bottom of each bank was a panel that could be unlocked, although I can’t recall ever managing to do that, instead using your Mom’s butter knife technique to get at the treasure. My bank is safely stored with other mementos in the attic, but if times become more like those of the Depression, I may have to retrieve that bank and get out the butter knife.
What a beautiful story. I think the attic is my next project with June. I can’t wait to find this treasure. I will tutor you on the butter knife skill.
Love this story! Admittedly however, Charlotte is my all time favorite non-person.
🙂 L
Yes, Charlotte was a very special pig. Thanks for reading my musings, Lori. Hope all is well with you.
I salute Miss Piggy not only for all the history she has witnessed with impeccable discretion, but for her ability to survive those lunch money muggings.
She is a strong pig! Nice to hear from you, always, Peter.
Miss Piggy has a well deserved rest on a wooden shelf, as handsome as she. I see she’s shut her eyes and is dreaming of all her adventures…as you have.
Your affection and care makes her feel secure, restored. I love your story with her.
Thank you, dear Susan.