She Kept A Parrot
A Journal For Charlie
Inside An Old Woman’s Cupboard No.2
Old Silver Stuff
The housekeeper with the cleaning fetish really should try to cultivate her illness by a layer or two. The silver coffee/teapots could benefit from a little of that buffing muscle of hers. Maybe I’ll remember to bring it up. I’m trying my damdest to think where these pots might have come from. I used to know a weary-eyed young mother of several small children (I never paid attention to the actual count) who operated an antiques shop for her mother. The shop was housed in an old storefront situated on “the square” opposite the county courthouse in what people refer to as a quaint little village…a short drive from my home. She often telephoned me when her old mother returned from an auction or an estate sale with things she thought might interest me. I’d wager that’s where some of this stuff came from.
The goblet is there to remind me of my niece’s antique crystal pattern…the name of which I have totally discarded. Once, I was on a mission to find every piece of it for her, but my enthusiasm wavered. Either that or I was distracted by some other fleeting obsession. No matter. Replacements, Ltd. in Greensboro, NC, conveniently has the information stored in their vast database of kindly reminders carefully designed to serve people like me. Now that I think of it, Susie’s birthday was last November. Crap!
14 Comments on “Inside An Old Woman’s Cupboard No.2”
Comments
She Kept A Parrot 
I love these kind of things… Silver and crystal they are together so beautiful… Wonderful photograph dear Gweaver, I loved it. Thank you, with my love, nia
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Oh, more than one. Google reader only showed one to start. Sumptuous.
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A picture with charm.
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Wonderful photo.
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I’ve just found your blog. I love the title.. so much going on in these cupboards of ours. Long-stored objects, opinions, ways of looking at the world, all stored in darkness for far too long. Nice to find such a shining voice. ~Fiona
PS I completely identify with that obsession of tracking down every last item in a series. Given half a chance I would do it for all my nieces, but fortunately they don’t share the magpie-mentality, so I’ve been saved from myself.
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Hello,
I was not blessed with the gift of brevity, but I’ll do my best to get straight to the point: I am a follower of Michael’s blog, (The Blissful Adventurer) and by chance I happened to read a comment you wrote on his post today. Simply put, you struck me as an incredibly learned, impassioned, and complicated woman — someone I would enjoy sitting down to coffee with, and just . . . listening to. Not prone or fond of egotism, I will say only that the last two aforementioned attributes most definitely apply, in terms of the woman believe myself to be. Your words, for lack of a better word, were pure. Pretenses, sarcasm, and watery platitudes mess up true relationship. It is with truth and honesty and the humility to say “I’m not perfect” that we have even the slightest chance of claiming the potential of communing intimately.
To sum up, I highly respect the voice you have inherently been blessed with. And I very much hope to hear more of that voice.
Blessings,
Cara
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I know her. She is Mollusk Girl. We took the same bus today. She sat with her friend a few seats in front of me. I am almost shamed by the memory of it. An old woman stretching as far as she can to hear. I know. Where I come from eavesdropping is still taboo for children and old people. But then I could never get it right. As I blow on my coffee, the girl’s description comes back to me. She said “skin like a mollusk”, didn’t she? Now I feel warm inside. And I smile. Today was a good day. I remember the metaphor. I even remember it was called a metaphor. Once. Perhaps I will see them again. If we take the same bus.
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. . . This threw me. If I am to be honest with you, and I want to be, this response indeed threw me. It shouldn’t have, right? Not coming from you, it shouldn’t. Of course I already know that you graduated college in 1965 with a degree in English Literature. I know that you use words the way artists use color and texture, the way chefs play with seasonings and garnishes. Why would I, even for one second, expect a traditional, “Why, thank you, Cara. Such a nice comment you left me. Blather. Babble. Bleh.”
Absurd.
This. Was. Perfect. And I will not leave our meetings to fate; you tell me what bus you you’ll be on, and I’ll be there.
Truly blessed to have met you,
Cara
Curious . . . do you have any published work? I’ve read but only a small portion of your writing in the form of comments and posts, and this already was like encountering a rainbow in world of black and white. I would love to see what happens when the subject is one unhampered by the trivialities of networking.
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What a wonderful photo. I am enjoying looking around your blog.
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Welcome, Maggie. Come on in any time. You don’t need to knock. There is no design plan here. I’m just posting stuff I like. I’m glad you like it too. Thank you for stopping by and for your kind appraisal of my photo!
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I am with Victor on this–black and white is the only way for this subject. Your accompanying exposition draws us in and makes it all the richer an experience.
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Thank you, Lance. Who was it? Jerry Weintraub? I think he said something like, “When I stop talking, you’ll know I’m dead”! Same here. 😉
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I love this one….love the picture, but more than that the wisdom.
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It really does look good in black and white.
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