I have an old brown leather purse that belonged to my Nan. She died when I was 11 or 12. I;m 59 now and the purse is still in the drawer next to my bed. It has a certain smell and it takes me back to when I used to visit her with my mother. She was in her 80's then and I would sit in front of her patiently like a dog waiting for her to g…
I have an old brown leather purse that belonged to my Nan. She died when I was 11 or 12. I;m 59 now and the purse is still in the drawer next to my bed. It has a certain smell and it takes me back to when I used to visit her with my mother. She was in her 80's then and I would sit in front of her patiently like a dog waiting for her to give me some sweets. She always wore the same brown zip up slippers and an apron and her hair would be tied back. A sort of Doris Lessing style although she would never have known that. I can see her wrinkled face now and see her hand dipping into her apron pocket. I used to play with her skin on her hand to see how long it stayed standing up. I do the same with my mother sometimes now. She had one of the old-fashioned hearing aids that she would turn off. Her apron smelled too but it was a good smell - one of warmth and love.
Inside the purse are some old pennies in tiny compartments held together by tiny clasps.
One day she was there and the next she was in a home and then she came home for a time and then she was gone. I was too young to see her in her last day or go to the funeral. She's still here in my heart and I'm starting to well up a little now as I type. I'm going to get the purse out again later and take a look and a smell. Go back and see her again. I miss her.
Peter - what an incredibly moving piece, and so beautifully written. That tangible, loving quality I go back to again and again in Laurie Lee is here in your writing too. I read it aloud to my husband, who was as moved by it as I was. And it's your first piece for the project too I think! I do hope you'll try other prompts in the archive: all stay open for contributions.
I love all of it, and find this sentence particularly powerful, coming as it does with vertiginous as well as poignant perspective, after all the preceding ones which are so closely focussed in on your gran and all you loved about her and the purse: 'One day she was there and the next she was in a home and then she came home for a time and then she was gone.'
I will make the new month's page on the cure for sleep book site tomorrow all being well, and yours will be the first piece I curate on it. Once I've done that I will come back here to comments to give you your direct URL so that you can include in any posts you want to do or if you have a website or writing course application where having it will be of use to you.
Heartfelt thanks. I think I've been waiting to write that piece for many years without the courage. I think seeing my aged mother, 95, brings back memories too. We used to visit my auntie who she lived with together on the bus. Happy yet poignant memories. Little do we know when we are at such a tender age how things come back to haunt us. Thank you also for being my first subscriber who is not a relative or a friend. Perhaps I have made a new friend in a way. I look forward to posting on your other prompts. Peter
It really is a beautiful piece, Peter. And I will look forward to more contributions from you, as you have time and interest to take part. Here, as promised, is your direct link to your words in the story archive. Very best, Tanya
Oh I'm glad you told me that! My usually rigorous notification system for spotting all new stories has something failed me this week then as I haven't seen that other one come through. I've got tired eyes now tonight, but I will search for your other piece tomorrow mid morning! Something to look forward to! And then I will use the comments over on that theme to give your link and my response. Thank you Peter!
I have an old brown leather purse that belonged to my Nan. She died when I was 11 or 12. I;m 59 now and the purse is still in the drawer next to my bed. It has a certain smell and it takes me back to when I used to visit her with my mother. She was in her 80's then and I would sit in front of her patiently like a dog waiting for her to give me some sweets. She always wore the same brown zip up slippers and an apron and her hair would be tied back. A sort of Doris Lessing style although she would never have known that. I can see her wrinkled face now and see her hand dipping into her apron pocket. I used to play with her skin on her hand to see how long it stayed standing up. I do the same with my mother sometimes now. She had one of the old-fashioned hearing aids that she would turn off. Her apron smelled too but it was a good smell - one of warmth and love.
Inside the purse are some old pennies in tiny compartments held together by tiny clasps.
One day she was there and the next she was in a home and then she came home for a time and then she was gone. I was too young to see her in her last day or go to the funeral. She's still here in my heart and I'm starting to well up a little now as I type. I'm going to get the purse out again later and take a look and a smell. Go back and see her again. I miss her.
Peter - what an incredibly moving piece, and so beautifully written. That tangible, loving quality I go back to again and again in Laurie Lee is here in your writing too. I read it aloud to my husband, who was as moved by it as I was. And it's your first piece for the project too I think! I do hope you'll try other prompts in the archive: all stay open for contributions.
I love all of it, and find this sentence particularly powerful, coming as it does with vertiginous as well as poignant perspective, after all the preceding ones which are so closely focussed in on your gran and all you loved about her and the purse: 'One day she was there and the next she was in a home and then she came home for a time and then she was gone.'
I will make the new month's page on the cure for sleep book site tomorrow all being well, and yours will be the first piece I curate on it. Once I've done that I will come back here to comments to give you your direct URL so that you can include in any posts you want to do or if you have a website or writing course application where having it will be of use to you.
Heartfelt thanks. I think I've been waiting to write that piece for many years without the courage. I think seeing my aged mother, 95, brings back memories too. We used to visit my auntie who she lived with together on the bus. Happy yet poignant memories. Little do we know when we are at such a tender age how things come back to haunt us. Thank you also for being my first subscriber who is not a relative or a friend. Perhaps I have made a new friend in a way. I look forward to posting on your other prompts. Peter
It really is a beautiful piece, Peter. And I will look forward to more contributions from you, as you have time and interest to take part. Here, as promised, is your direct link to your words in the story archive. Very best, Tanya
https://thecureforsleep.com/impossible-objects/#peterhamer
Thank you for including me. I have posted another piece in the Stay This Moment part.I hope you like it.
Oh I'm glad you told me that! My usually rigorous notification system for spotting all new stories has something failed me this week then as I haven't seen that other one come through. I've got tired eyes now tonight, but I will search for your other piece tomorrow mid morning! Something to look forward to! And then I will use the comments over on that theme to give your link and my response. Thank you Peter!
Oh how beautiful Peter! I enjoyed reading this very much.
Many thanks Tracey.