a kind of sentimentalism

She had a curious way of storing things.
She was an original “repurpose” person.
Some of the beads were kept in jars,
and if there wasn’t a lid for a jar,
she used masking tape instead.

She saved
every little tidbit of ribbon
every button
every thread

Looking through the art supplies I inherited,
I can smell her house
I can see her looking through the bric-a-brac
until a color scheme came to mind

And I am realizing
or confessing
that that’s why I’ve not started any projects
with the inherited items.
They’re perfectly good…wonderful even.

But looking through them without changing them
is to, in some way, hold onto her
or at least a memory of her
an image of her.

What will happen when I do take that first step?
Open that first jar (peeling away the tape)?
Shift things in the Tupperware container she used for storage?

It is difficult to come to terms with it sometimes.
And I can understand the paralysis that comes from loss
“everything is just as she left it”
as if she cares or is coming back.

And then I go back to the image of circles
in motion
intersecting.
And I think of sages and warriors and the Journey.
And I know the thing I must do.

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~ by hannahcsykes on September 5, 2008.

One Response to “a kind of sentimentalism”

  1. “looking through the art supplies I inherited
    I can smell her house”

    Closing my eyes, I am there. I know that smell, the smell of heritage and simple living. In my mind, you have captured and revealed to us, your readers, some of her essence. Please, from time to time, give us more of her.

    So much of our knowing in the turmoil of this broken world brings us sadness, anxiety, and fear. The words and ways of these verses remind me of many of the good things I know, and I am pleased and filled with desire for higher ground.

    As always, thank you, my friend.

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