A fellow blogger (whose writing I love), began a series of posts where she writes about “objects with meaning”. You can read about the start of the project here. She invited others to write about their own “objects with meaning” in this post.
So I really like the idea that other bloggers may want to write about their own ‘objects of meaning’ and the stories behind them. I think ideas are best shared. If you would like to join in I would be happy to host guest posts here, or link to posts on other blogs to direct some traffic. I really like the idea that we could together develop a web or map of stories through interesting objects, nearly forgotten pieces of clothing and long cherished toys – it would be exciting to act as a hub for that.
I decided to write about an object that has special meaning to me. Here are my object and my article.
This is my mother’s Mother’s Ring.
My mom and I had a special relationship. I guess everyone would say that about their mom. Mine was 40 years old when I was born. My sister is 13 years older than me. People have always asked me if I was an “Oops!” baby. I don’t think so. My mom had several miscarriages before I was born. I always got the sense that I was very much wanted.
My mom was always a force to be reckoned with. As I was growing up, she was older than most of my friends’ mothers. She was also more independent and more confident. She was a woman (maybe ahead of her time) who knew how to get what she wanted. She was a French and Latin teacher and the director of plays and musicals at the high school where she taught. She was good at giving directions. She was also lucky. She was the luckiest person I know. Maybe it was because she always clapped for each white horse she saw (her good luck superstition). She won at Atlantic City almost every time she went. She said the slot machines talked to her.
My mom was a very popular teacher. She loved a good laugh. I can remember high school kids coming to our house for parties. This was in the days when such things were possible. The parties were always strictly chaperoned, and the kids had evenings of benign fun. No drinking, no kissing, just listening to music, eating chips and drinking Cokes, talking, laughing, and maybe some games like charades.
My husband sometimes tells me that I am just like my mom. I take it as a compliment, even though I am not always sure it is meant as such. I don’t know if he means that I am kind, generous and loving like my mom or stubborn, opinionated and recalcitrant like she was. Probably the second part.
My mom had a stroke three years before she died. She was confined to an assisted living facility, which she hated. During this time, our roles were reversed; I took care of her. Every night I would go over and help her with her shower and get her ready for bed. She would tell me how she watched for me all day, and I would feel bad, but by that time, I was a teacher, and working during the day. Some days I would break her out of the facility in her wheelchair, and we would go to a local bar for a Bloody Mary and a snack. Those days, she was ready for bed early and slept soundly.
Before my mom died, she instructed me to take some of her gambling winnings and put them aside so I could treat the family to dinner after her funeral. Of course, I followed her directions. After her funeral, the family went out to dinner, and my brother-in-law, who always competed (unsuccessfully) with my mother to pay the bill, reached for the check. No, I told him, this one is on Mom. I explained what she had instructed me to do. He laughed “She won again!”, and I burst into tears. I grieved for years after Mom died.
Mom had given me some of her and my grandmother’s jewelry. I wore the pieces often and kept them in a jewelry box on my dresser. One evening after Mom’s death, my husband and I went to a party at a friend’s house. When we got home, we noticed a light in our house that we never left on, and the patio door was open. Someone had been in our house while we were gone. We were robbed! The thieves took two things – our TV and my jewelry box. All of my jewelry was gone, including the pieces from my mother and grandmother. I was inconsolable. The TV could be replaced, but not the jewelry. We filed a police report, but the thieves were never found.
One day, about six months after the robbery, I was poking around some of my mother’s possessions that I was storing in our basement. I wanted to sort through her few remaining things, but I didn’t have the heart to discard anything. I was just about to give up on the project when I saw a small box that I didn’t recognize. I opened it. Her Mother’s Ring was inside! I was elated, jumping around the basement and cheering! It was like hitting the jackpot on a slot machine. I had a piece of my mother back that the robbers had missed.
Ever since I found my mom’s ring, I make sure to clap every time I see a white horse. I am not usually superstitious, but I am not taking any more chances. Maybe I did inherit just a little bit of Mom’s luck.
I am linking up with Eclectic Evelyn for her Words on Wednesday link up.