Paula MacGregor
The Powder Compact
One of the more subtle senses we have is that of smell. When I opened my mums powder compact, and again when I took the lid off her lipstick - it was as if she was in the room with me.
The compact has a photo of her when she was 17 instead of powder, the blotter has the stain of her lipstick on it. There is a piece of her blue chiffon scarf, printed with the image of a Christmas card dad had sent her over 50 years previously. An antique perfume bottle stands in the corner, it now hold fragrant rose petal beads, made from her funeral flowers. Lastly the mirror reflects a single pink rose - one my own daughter gave me for mothers day the year I lost my own mother.
The Powder Compact
One of the more subtle senses we have is that of smell. When I opened my mums powder compact, and again when I took the lid off her lipstick - it was as if she was in the room with me.
The compact has a photo of her when she was 17 instead of powder, the blotter has the stain of her lipstick on it. There is a piece of her blue chiffon scarf, printed with the image of a Christmas card dad had sent her over 50 years previously. An antique perfume bottle stands in the corner, it now hold fragrant rose petal beads, made from her funeral flowers. Lastly the mirror reflects a single pink rose - one my own daughter gave me for mothers day the year I lost my own mother.