So Many Coffee Cups

Somehow, I got elected as the family archivist. I have the old box from a pair of rollerskates that has housed the family photos and photo albums for decades. The Skatebox. Most of these, however, I'd never seen until I found my mom's collection in her keepsakes.   My Mom as a baby My Granddaddy holding his little girl, my Mom My mom and her mom My mom, her brother, and her daddy My mom and her little brother My Mom and Dad One of my favorite pictures of my Mom and I My older brother, Mom, and me Me, my older brother, little sister, baby brother in progress, Mom and Dad. My Mom and my newborn son Another favorite picture of us Jean  

 An article in my FB feed today about an exhibit at Chesters Fort in England had the best teaser line. I would have sent this to my mom..."Coffee cups, Mom. Coffee cups." "Collecting objects as a way of safeguarding memories  is an extremely old idea." MEMENTO: SOUVENIRS FROM HADRIAN’S WALL To celebrate 1900 years of Hadrian’s Wall, Chesters has a new exhibition displaying nearly two millenia of keepsakes, including one of the Wall’s earliest souvenirs, the Rudge Cup. Made around 130AD, the Rudge Cup is a small bronze bowl with the names of five forts inscribed on it and an illustration of the wall. It is thought to have been made for a high-ranking soldier or civil official who was stationed on the Wall. The Rudge Cup will join a host of keepsakes from the Wall, including a large replica bust of Hadrian, a piece of the wooden fort at Carlisle and a tin filled with scavenged fragments, which were discovered on a visit to Chesters in 1891, according to the handwritte...

 I'm very much a "thing" person. Holding, using, seeing a "thing" brings up vivid memories. I once stole a fork from a pub in Scotland much to my son's horror. (I made him shove a giant menu in his oversized army jacket from the same pub. It's framed on the wall in the kitchen.) Forever after, when one of us would reach into the silverware drawer and grab The Fork, we’d have a vivid memory of the classic pub, the Stone Goose Inn, with the giant waiter and the ridiculously reasonable price for a dram of Dalwhinnie single malt scotch. We've since lost the fork but the memory lives. Just not the same, not as vivid.  I have very few things of my mom's, sadly. I wasn't ready to go through her things. I didn't know I wasn't ready, I thought I didn't want to start taking things from her home and never stop. I wanted her apartment to stay that way forever. I didn't know I'd feel differently later. There was no later. It was all go...

​This week, I lied to my regular weekly therapist of many many years. I told her I had a migraine from the weather changing and couldn't come in Saturday morning. She said OK, Feel better.  This week, I lied to my regular weekly grief therapist of a couple of months. I told her I had a migraine from the weather changing and couldn't meet up with her on Zoom Monday morning. She said Feel better and to let her know if I wanted to meet up another day this week. I didn't and I haven't. This week, I am tired of dealing with " IT ", my grief. Of wearing it on the outside, of having it in my face like the bright light on the tip of the anglerfish's modified dorsal fin meant to attract prey to within gulping distance of its enormous mouth. Only the females have them, apparently. It's called the  esca  and contains bioluminescent bacteria that glow. Bet you weren't expecting to learn THAT here. That's the trouble with me. I live and breathe natura...

I’ve moved a number of times in the last decade or two, primarily in an effort to stay ahead of the ever increasing rents in this ridiculously expensive town. Each time, my mom has insisted on being in charge of the kitchen. Everything from measuring, cutting and installing shelf paper to unpacking and putting everything away. It’s been a huge blessing. And it’s fun to figure out where she put everything and realize that it’s all exactly where I’d put it. About three moves ago, as she’s unpacking dishes, she gets to the box of coffee cups and asks, “Robin, why do you have SO DAMN MANY coffee cups?! There’s only one of you!” She starts tucking them into a cupboard tightly, clearly hoping they all fit. True, I own enough coffee cups to serve tea to an entire rugby tournament but I live alone save for an occasional visit from my son. And my cat. So why do I have so many and why is it so hard to part with any? My mom has never been a sentimental or nostalgic person. She is very org...