The pebble lives in my purse. Occasionally when I need to find something like a pen or a little candy, the content gets dumped out and the pebble sees the light of day. Each time, I am mildly relieved that it is still there, unchanged, a reminder of the day I got it...
A Bottle Full of Stories
by Darlene Oldcorn
Dad kept this bottle and all his Navy memorabilia in the bedroom. One day as I sat beside him on the chesterfield, he brought the bottle out. And so his storytelling began. For him the bottle symbolized all his years in the Navy and I was the lucky and proud recipient of many of those stories.
by Carolina Meneses Zamora
The small paper prints, blurry and worn out like my relationship with Catholicism and religion in general, are always in a hidden pocket in my wallet. And somehow, they have managed to go with me everywhere I go, like the history and struggles of all the women in my family.
The Violet Mat
by Susan W.
Mom’s was a hard life, stuck on the farm with four children. The drudgery of cooking, cleaning, gardening, preserving, canning, growing as much food as possible so the family could winter over on a paltry income.
Visiting Risie in Covid Times
by Frances Ravinsky
These earrings remind me of my untethered self; of swimming through life without a clan. Without mishpocha. Without oyve.
... Of holding on to my mother’s bits and bobs, my mother who died over 50 years ago.