September 13, 2008
September 13, 2008
I found it difficult to give my daughter an inexpensive brooch and wondered why I had such an attachment. It belonged to my mother and I never wore it and will never wear it. It was lovely, but I seldom wear that type of jewelry. After pondering why I felt such a deep wrench inside of me I realized that each time I noticed the piece I recalled my deceased mother. What I was giving up was a piece of a memory dear to me. Why that particular item bothered me so much is not clear to me. Perhaps one day when she was wearing it she hugged me.
I began exploring my connection to the Living room wall to wall carpet which badly needed replacing, but which prevented me from selling my home and moving on to join my children in Florida. The rich vermillion reminded me of the many hours that my husband and I lovingly enjoyed each others company. I could recall the early years of my children playing with each other. Not that each time I entered the room, but the nostalgia essence of it.
When I recently gave my granddaughter, Laura a necklace and earrings, I told her how I came to have them . She commented on the the soft leather fluffy rug which was a memento of my trip to South America. Also in my bedroom is the beautiful bird decorated rug-hanging that came from Turkey. A trip which included “a Dr. Seuss-like village” of beige volcanic splatters that the citizens had hollowed out from the lopsided cookie type shapes into homes with magically askew windows and doors. I had learned a bit of the language. One inhabitant wanted to know why I knew his tongue. I just smiled and said, “You speak English,why did you learn it?” One of the older women gave me a scarf that she had lovingly and patiently sewed with beads around it and refused any compensation for her time.
Laura said, “Everything has a story.” I agreed. These are but a few of the remembrances of happy times. No wonder when we lose our homes/property/country do we feel a loss that we would do anything to defend.