my mother's brooches
I opened the box holding my mother's brooches and began to cry. The week has started on a rocky note and unearthing one of the many, many collections of things I have of my mother's pushed me over the edge, yet comforted, hence the tears.
This is a perfect of example of why I save things. They can hold such meaning: memories, comfort, history.
My mother loved brooches: on a blazer lapel, to hold a scarf in place, on her hand-knitted wool coats.
In her honor, like an OCD meditation, I sorted the little collection. Five distinct categories are clear.
1. The ceramic, usually obtained from local Sydney artists, such as Vicki Grima:
2. The museum shop pieces:
3. The travel souvenirs:
4. The family heirlooms:
5. Her Sydney roots:
One question: what is that delicate little chain on the antique/vintage brooches for? I have yet to grasp its use. Extra security in case the main clasp gives? A way to attach two sides of, say, a scarf? I could use the Internet, I suppose, but I prefer to simply pose the question and ponder possibilities.
Re-boxing the brooches. Must remember I can take them out and wear them myself.