The last of the little things I found in the bag of Mother’s stuff. First, two little bunnies.
I’m not sure why she held on to these. Did she think they were sweet? I keep so much stuff of my own for purely sentimental reasons. My intuition tells me someone gave these to her.
She also had these. Did she paint them? Buy them? Receive them?
All bunnies and chickens have joined the space in my curio cabinet set aside for the barnyard. Thus they are with these two.
My late friend Jeff liked chickens, and I painted these for him during what I call the Ceramic Years (they fell between the Painted T-Shirt Years and the Resurgence of Mattel: 1990s Version). Shortly before he died, when I was fired as his friend, he returned almost everything I’d given to him. Time heals–it did long ago–and these little reminders of the vagaries of friendship only make me smile now.
Another reminder: The bin of Jeff stuff has been set aside as the next to be purged. I suspect I’ll get a blog post or two out of that.