alisonlittleblog

Foraging Memories

Rifling further into the depths of the dilapidated bureau,  pursuing a drawer to free up for her assortment of USB sticks, files to keep safe from the next cyber typhoon. Contactless tech, the only really secure mode in cyber crime channels swamping the all encompassing virtual world. 

Buoyant, her finger tips skim over the grace of a swans feather. Sturdy in poise, but with silky elegance. Another’ memory, she recounts being told the tale. Separated from his partner, she and his son had set up house with another man. The young son, his for the day, pram laden, had taken him to the Park. The whippersnapper had whooped in delight on the eye shot of a white feather cast off by the aquatic trumpeter.  Bounded over the railings to get the plume for his newly absent son. Dave was now gone, Scorn had been out of touch for several years but was now out in the States and back in contact through Facebook. In missing Dave, she found some pleasure in being in touch with his son. 

Finger tips scratch over some debris, vigilant in case of glass fragments. Over to an old nail kit, another of Dave’ old finds, brought back from his travels with work abroad. The case and set, cheap and produced on mass. Linked with imitation leather, lacking the smell of touch of genuine hide. However, the tools are very functional, she remembers the time he used to take to cut them. Echo laid out to take clippings, each toe attentively reducing each nail from nook to nook. A methodical, timelessly worked process, completed from left to right with plenty of breaks for discourse. 

A box of semi used ear wax sticks, the bud variety which are now banned. Becoming chemist contraband initially due to single use plastics, then a second ban when the sticks were produced in paper pulp. In access of a decade she had known they were detrimental to health, impelling wax further into your lobes. She remembers the discussion she had when still working in London. The Chinese candle treatment she had reaped the benefits from and restored her hearing to full volume. Informed by the petite Oriental beauty that cotton buds were ‘Very bad.’ Out of convenience she had kept using them, only really stopping when the ban came into place. She must keep, great for ‘Do you remember these?’ discussions on social media in twenty years time, if social media has not been replaced by that point. 

The old pin button badge, in actuality a recent purchase from the summer. Yet a vintage buy, picked up from a student area in Manchester. The train and bus ride to the nearest NHS dentist that would take new patients. After two or three weeks of scrolling the site for availability she had got one nearer than Birmingham. Initially, a monotonous burden, but it had become a guilty solace. A potter around the vintage stores and  charity boutiques, dropping into the warm bank at the library on a winter visit. 

The rust from the badge edges against a supersized can of hairspray. Assuming that no-one would imagine she would use this on her hair. Although not a user of high end styling products, this was particularly cheap and nasty. She shakes the can and sprays some, yes plenty left, will keep. Brought due to the higher ratio of varnish in the cheaper brands, ideal as a fixative for soft pastels. She must revisit that medium, perhaps later today.

Nay, this drawer can remain untouched, everything belongs and has purpose, there will be no making way for tech. She discharges the debris and sponges over the bottom. Adding a shine with spray polish, she tentatively returns the items, perhaps she will look at a way of displaying some of the items, the feature not the hairspray, perhaps with some soft pastel works. 

Alison Little

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