All that is left behind …

On a recent visit to my 101 year old mother, she thrust an old plastic baggy of stuff into my hands and I was told to “take it home before one of the aides steals it.”

Sometimes my mother is so right on, it is scary: she’ll name all her teachers, sing you a show tune and tell you about any actor you want to know about. She still refers to herself as a “flapper.”

Other times her paranoia is frightening for me, the child, to witness.

My mother had been referring on the phone, multiple times to this stuff, as a bag of your father’s tools. My father used to repair cameras and all I see of “tools” is one old, mini screw driver. “They’re worth a lot of money!” she insisted.

So, I took the bag home and sorted out the stuff that my father allegedly left behind: in 1991.

I have the items arranged but scattered, leaving the page: My father left, my mother is leaving. This is what we leave behind. The little detritus of everyday life.
I noticed bits of red, here and there, like a theme: the red plastic screwdriver handle, a rubber band on the measuring tape, the red plastic staple remover. Red is a life-force color. How ironic.

this photo was done for my group. We are reviewing design, texture, pattern, etc. and this was for “Man-Made Monday.”
iPhone XS max
Snapseed: crop, healing
Then I went through a few hundred apps (well not quite, but you get it) looking for the right “filter.” Ended up in iColorama, a massive app/program that has millions of permutations for everything, for some texture and grunge.

It’s all a fleeting memory.

This series starts here:
Part 1: And The Band Played On … a mother’s life, a daughter’s journey

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