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I almost had a collision at the grocery store yesterday. Almost. I was coming out of an aisle into the larger main aisle when I pulled up short. A couple was approaching with their cart, so I stopped to let them pass. The woman stopped too. “No, no. Come on out.” I thanked her and…
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I think I liked the watch more than he ever did. That probably isn’t the way most keepsake stories begin, but it’s the truth. Years ago, I was looking for a gift for my husband when I found it online. It wasn’t extravagant or rare. It was simply… different. Rectangular instead of round. Something about…
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For years, there was a small barrel-shaped bag in the bottom of my closet. It wasn’t particularly beautiful. In fact, it was quite horrifically ugly. It certainly wasn’t valuable. It was simply where a few things that mattered quietly lived. Inside was my Nana’s beaded flapper purse. And a crucifix. I learned much later that…
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I could not see the train from my bedroom. I didn’t need to. About a mile and a quarter from our house, the railroad crossed the end of our road. During the day, the flashing lights stopped traffic while freight trains lumbered through town. Every now and then, a passenger train would appear, racing past…
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I do not sit in my Nana’s rocking chair. This is strange because it is probably the sturdiest chair in the house. The original cushion is gone now, replaced long ago by another. One small nail occasionally reminds the unwary that time has passed. A blanket rests across the seat, less for decoration than protection.…
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My mug had developed veins. At least that’s what I called them. Thin, branching lines appeared inside the cup over time, spreading beneath the glaze like tiny rivers on a map. At first, they were barely noticeable. Later, they collected traces of tea, becoming darker and easier to see. I loved that mug. It arrived…
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I cannot remember a time before the green bowl. It is small, made of plastic, and entirely unremarkable to anyone who didn’t grow up with it. Total kitsch. I remember eating applesauce from it when I was a child. I remember seeing it in kitchen cabinets and on countertops. I remember it moving from one…
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I am standing on my deck talking to a piece of glass. Not tapping. Not typing. Talking. A few moments from now, I will walk back into my office, sit down at my desk, and find that thought, that conversation waiting for me on a computer inside the house. I understand enough about technology to…
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I still have the key to my first car. A Ford Fiesta that disappeared while I was away at college. My father sold it without telling me. I came home one weekend and the car was simply gone. No farewell drive. No conversation. No chance to stand in the driveway and decide whether I was…
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There was a period of time when the purse lived inside a paper bag. Not a preservation box. Not tissue paper. Not behind glass. A crumpled, brown, oilpaper bag, tucked inside a steamer trunk discovered in my Nana’s old chicken coop after she died. Also inside the trunk was a velvet dress with small sections…