Saturday, 7 January 2012
My mother had a particularly glamorous pair of cat eye sunglasses circa 1950-something. There are old black and white snaps of her wearing them, a la Grace Kelly, flaming auburn hair contained by a whips of chiffon scarf, smiling in the Canadian sunshine. She lived there for a time in the late 50's, steaming away from dreary post war England on an assisted passage across the Atlantic, indulging in deck quoits on board ship. I'm sure she wore the sunglasses then, later they were passed to me and stored in the trunk she used for her voyage.
A trunk that now resides deep in the recesses of our loft, almost inaccessible behind the piles of christmas decorations. Reluctant to check if the glasses were still there, I hoped I stored them at the back of my drawer, but found other tresures instead. It's strange how we hold on to fragments of things to define our lives. I discovered an worn leather wallet with a receipt for a restaurant in Port Douglas, Queensland, it brought back memoreies of swaying palms, long golden beaches and outdoor cinemas. In another old purse was a yellow taxi card for the Poconos, USA, memories of a late night car trip through the forests after dancing on the bar in a local hotel. A little picute from my daughter, a drawing of her mother, sitting, wine glass in hand (not much changes) with a photo of her in bright yellow dungareess and a sun hat, eyes squinting against the sunshine. She could have done with those cat eye sunglasses, perhaps I should resume the search.