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5 Valley women share treasured heirlooms from their mothers

The women in my life bequeathed me a taste for cashmere, leather and good books.

I wear my grandmother’s loosely woven cotton spring coat with its three-quarter sleeves and silk lining, and imagine decades earlier when she wore it with the hat of that year and matching gloves on Easter Sundays. A widow and a working mom, she managed to assemble a stylish wardrobe on a modest salary.

On the eve of Mother’s Day, we asked five Valley women to share the heirlooms each acquired from women they hold dear.

Here are their stories and talismans.

Kathleen Mascarenas, wife, mother of three and spokeswoman for Salt River Project, wears her mother’s silver ring every day.

On Aug. 27, 2010, I lost one of the most important people in my life.

My mom has always been by my side. I know people say that often, but my mom lived it.

She worked two jobs for years in Dallas so she could afford airplane tickets every three months to see me and my three children in Arizona.

She knew I tend to overwork, and she wanted to make sure she was here to give me a break and to watch her grandchildren grow. When she landed, it was a vacation from dishes, diapers and cooking.

When she was diagnosed with stomach cancer in July 2009, I flew to Dallas every month to be with her. I’d drive her to doctor appointments, wander aimlessly with her through Target, lie in bed with her or hold her hand as she struggled through the horrific effects of chemotherapy.

Shortly after she passed, I found a silver ring with a cross in her jewelry box. Of all her rings, this one reminded me of her the most, even though I had never seen her wear it. My mom raised us to be faithful Christians, and some of my best memories were of us four children sitting on the floor of my parents’ bedroom singing in unison from a hymnal on my mom’s lap. This ring represents my mom’s love and devotion, not only to her children but to her faith. When I wear it, I feel her presence and a layer of protection.

Michelle Poscz , married, mother of three sons, buying analyst at Honeywell, Chandler resident and expecting her first grandchild in October.

My mother, Lynn Fennello, had an unerring sense of style. She was ahead of her time, and she was always in the know. My mother was the second oldest in a classic, close-knit Italian family of five daughters and one son. She was a hairdresser, as are two of my aunts, and maybe that’s what made my mother very, very hip. When I was a teenager, I went to her closet for clothes.

Several years before my mother died in 2007, she spotted a fabulous pair of shredded jeans for $200. It was before shredded jeans were really that popular, but my mother saw them and said, “I can do that.” She went to thrift stores and began hand-shredding these jeans. They were fabulous. Everyone liked them, and when she died we kept the jeans she had purchased years earlier in the hopes of being able to create a business for herself by selling them.

My aunts and I wanted to do something with those jeans she was so passionate about. We have had purses made from those jeans for members of our family. There’s a set of golf-club covers made from her jeans for my uncle and coin purses for the nieces and cousins.

And this October, my son’s first child will have a quilt made from several of my mother’s jeans. It will be backed with material from her satin pajamas, something she also loved.

And this grandchild of mine will call me “Honey,” just like my children called my mother.

Julie Kesler Crone married Grant Crone on Aug. 22, 2009; she is vice president of operations for Bobe Water and Fire Features and a Phoenix resident.

On the day I married, I wore my mother’s wedding dress and an opal ring given to me by a neighbor and longtime family friend, Mary Jean Crookham.

I had gone to all the wedding boutiques and could not find the “it” dress. My mom, Margo Kesler, and I had jokingly talked about me wearing her wedding dress. When I couldn’t find one, I tried her dress on, and it just worked. I felt shocked because I had always envisioned wearing a big classic dress. We had the dress altered slightly, eliminating the empire waistline, elongating the sleeves and lowering the hemline, but all the original lace was kept intact. I was relieved to have found the dress I was meant to wear.

When I look at my wedding pictures, the opal ring Mary Jean gave me sparkles more than my actual wedding ring. Mary Jean and her husband, Phil, had come to my high school graduation party. We hadn’t been neighbors for five years, so I felt honored that they were even able to come to the celebration.

On that night, she pulled me aside and handed me the ring box. I was shocked when I opened it. The Crookham’s had one son, so it felt like she was passing down a ring to her grandchild.

That night she called me Pee Wee, a name she had given me when I was a little girl and nearly every other day would announce to my parents that I was going next door to see Phil and Mary Jean. I would arrive at her house, and every time she would open the door, laugh and say “Pee Wee,” as if she were so surprised and happy to see me.

Her gift made me realize what our relationship had meant to her. When I wear the ring, I feel a great sense of the relationship we shared.

Terry Sanders, mother of three children, grandmother of one grandson and a retired high school French teacher; she lives in Scottsdale.

In 1975, I was studying abroad. I was in Paris and I visited the gift shop in the Notre Dame Cathedral, where I found a tiny gold medal of Mary. I brought it home and gave it to my mother. That was 36 years ago.

My mother, Shirley Monroe, wore the medal every day since she got it. She would put it on in the morning when she dressed and take it off when she put on her pajamas, laying it in the same place on her nightstand.

She cherished it because it came from there and from me. She wore it to work, where she took care of mentally ill patients. My mother died in October 2008. She was a nurse, and now I find myself volunteering at Phoenix Children’s Hospital. I wear this gold medal when I go there. I feel like she’s there helping me to do good work. Of all the things that I have of hers, this gives me strength to do difficult things, as I’m sure it did for her.

Martha Dennis Christiansen, wife, mother of two sons and three step-daughters and grandmother of nine grandchildren; she is associate vice president of educational outreach and student services and director of counseling and consultation at Arizona State University and lives in Tempe.

My mother, Lucille Shower Dennis, died in 1999 at the age of 89. She was a painter, studying briefly at the Chicago Art Institute after she graduated from the University of Chicago in the late 1930s. But other than her time in Chicago, she lived the rest of her life in Terre Haute, Ind., where she painted, raised me and helped my father run our family shoe business. Mother never had a studio in our home, and at times she worked on the kitchen counters. I loved watching her paint and was especially proud when Indiana University purchased one of her modern oil paintings to be permanently displayed in the Indiana Memorial Union.

When I was in my late teens, my mother painted a very compelling and haunting piece of work in hues of brown and beige. She painted a small dark figure receding into multiple telescoping doorways. I was attracted to and fascinated by this canvas that she framed in a beautiful antique multi-layered frame.

Before I could tell her how much I liked this work and that I wanted it, she had sold it to a woman she had known for a long time. My mother tried to refund the purchase and have the painting returned. The buyer refused. A few years later my mother-in-law heard the story and tried to purchase the painting for me. The owner again refused. When the owner died years later at the age of 100, my aunt contacted the family and again tried to purchase the painting for me. She was told that one of the grandchildren had taken the painting.

When my mother died, we held a lunch after the funeral. The daughter-in-law of the owner attended and presented me with the little painting, although the frame was gone. It seemed like magic. That day I felt like a piece of my mother had quickly returned to me. Although I have much of my mother’s art on the walls of my home, this small, treasured piece with its own story graces the wall of my bedroom.

Upon her death I also received my mother’s emerald-cut diamond engagement ring. I wear this ring every day. It makes me think of my mother’s hands, the hands that created such beautiful art, the hands that were so loving and nurturing. She taught me how to care for my family and to be a grandmother. I am “Nana” as was she.

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