my mother's brooches

I am going through my jewelry drawer to find broken, orphaned, boring costume jewelry for a local workshop on upcycling such things, offered by Tanglewood Works.

I opened the box holding my mother's brooches and began to cry. The week has started on a rocky note and unearthing one of the many, many collections of things I have of my mother's pushed me over the edge, yet comforted, hence the tears.

My mother loved brooches: on a blazer lapel, to hold a scarf in place, on her hand-knitted wool coats.

In her honor, like an pseudo-OCD meditation, I sorted the little collection. Five distinct categories are clear.

1. The ceramic, usually obtained from local Sydney artists, such as Vicki Grima:

2. The museum shop pieces:

3. The travel souvenirs:

4. The family heirlooms:

5. Her Sydney roots:

One question: what is that delicate little chain on the antique/vintage brooches for? I have yet to grasp its use. Extra security in case the main clasp gives? A way to attach two sides of, say, a scarf? I could use the Internet, I suppose, but I prefer to simply pose the question and ponder possibilities.

Re-boxing the brooches. Must remember I can take them out and wear them myself.

"these socks, those earrings"

Glenda Adams, late 1980s, Sydney, Australia

My mother, Glenda Adams, died five years ago today. I am her only child, and she was an amazing mother. While our tastes are different, she and I shared a love of clothing and a sense of personal style. She is a well-known Australian writer; I keep a blog about reading her writing here.

In an interview she had with Jan Hutchinson in the October 1988 issue of the journal Fine Line, they talk about whether her writing is autobiographical, morality in her writing, whether writing is political, women and writing, and my mother's two novels (at the time) Games of the Strong and Dancing on Coral.


But my mother also gets a chance to talk about clothing (because Games of the Strong includes a conflict about shorts and petticoats):


"Well, that's in a lot of my stories. What you wear. Nothing much has changed. We take as much care throwing together something casual. We choose quite carefully our tops and bottoms. These socks, those earrings. I feel that to think happily about clothes is quite a wonderful thing and it's been mistaken for -- given the fifties and sixties and the women's movement -- a sign of low self-esteem that you have to doll yourself up. You can also see it as a sign of extraordinary self-esteem. To decorate yourself with some confidence seems to me to be a wonderful urge. And not one that was encouraged in us young Australian women, especially if you were supposed to be good at your school work, which is sad for girls."


Of the many lessons she taught me? Play with and enjoy your clothing.