My parents are gone, but I still have their things. A plate, a chair, a matchbook, a sweater, an old cell phone. Something of them lives on in this stuff. Send a picture of an object and tell me what it does to you and how it makes you feel about your mom and dad, dead or alive. Then go clean up your room. Thank you
My mother hid her jewelry in her house in Florida for years. She was a complicated woman, and her sense of abandonment loomed large her entire life. Her mother had died of tuberculosis in 1925, leaving her at three years old in the care of an aunt, never returning to her father’s home on the other side of Brooklyn.
She could be acidly funny at times, but she was protective of herself because she had always felt vulnerable. I wanted her love but didn’t realize she had trouble giving it and we would fight over food, haircuts and my girlfriends. It wasn’t until the end of her life that I came to understand her struggles.
When she died in 2009 I scavenged her rooms to locate all her jewelry. I found the gold fish necklace in a little treasure box beneath a pile of tennis socks. It was unchained, floating in a tiny reservoir of costume rings. I was very happy to find it – one of hundreds of objects from the past I’d long forgotten. It had been present almost daily when I was 4 to 6 years old. Lifted up into my mother’s arms, I inspected it all the time, charmed by its guppy-sized hinged body that moved like a fish.
I’m not sure why finding it meant so much to me. Maybe it was because I had assumed that like everything else, it had been swallowed up by the world. Also, I’m a Pisces, a fish. – Matthew Rose ... http://matthewrosestudio.blogspot.com/