When Eugenia Zukerman asked forty accomplished women to share memories
of their mothers’ closets, she opened a floodgate that went far beyond
clothing and possessions.
In My Mother’s Closet taps into myths, rites and passages, and explores
the intense connection between mothers and daughters.
Perhaps you would like to explore your own memories more deeply, too.
You can use the questions on this page to rediscover some of the moments that
were important and formative for you as a child. You might also find it
helpful to write about those memories and talk about them with your
reading group, friends - and your family, especially your mother.
And if you would like to share your memories and thoughts with others
online, please do so by using the “Share My Memories” button below.
We’ll post some of your thoughts in the weeks to come. |
Memories You’ve Shared
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What struck me was an experience I had having two mothers, one
adoptive and one a birth mother. It isn’t actually about closets, but
pocket books which for me are maybe a small metaphor for your mother’s
closet and something all young children seem to want to explore. I had
been found by my birth mother at the age of 44, 12 years ago. On one of
her early visits to my home we took my daughter to a horse back riding
lesson. As we sat and watched I suddenly I realized I was looking
through her pocket book, almost instinctively, as a young child would.
I remember looking up at her and wondering what she would think. She
just smiled and said that’s OK. The experience of reuniting is like
this where you relive childhood experiences and this reminded me of what
my girls had done with my pocket book on a daily basis and I with my
adoptive mothers as a child. Could it be that this is a small closet
and view into their personal lives through their pocket books? Just a
thought. I plan to buy this book for both my mothers for mothers day and
one for myself and my two daughters. |
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I remember everything in fancy clothing bags with zippers. There was
always the mothball smell and they could choke you if you stayed too
long in the closet. Hatboxes on the shelves had hats my mother wore when
she was single. Some had feathers; one was a black crushed velvet
creation that had a snood. Shoes were carefully placed in a shoebag
hung from the closet door. In later years, clothes spilled out
plentifully. They bulged, hung over the closet door, on hangers. My
mother would have to push the door closed with all her weight to get it
to stay shut. She had her wedding dress tossed in the bottom of a
clothing bag. What once had been ivory satin now was dyed a garish
purple—an experiment gone very wrong. |
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From a reader in South Africa:
We call it a wardrobe in this ex-Colonial Country. No walk-in closets or
seal furs here. Just a small thing destined to wobble and possibly fall over at
the weight of an 8 year old. I would squash in behind the dresses, sitting on
and wrecking the shoes. I felt like a dog in an enclosed space. Safe. Sometimes
I would take a Marmite sandwich and chomp and ponder LIFE as an 8 year old.
How grandiose I was. I felt really powerful in there. No one knew where I was,
you see, and I could hide for hours. I loved it when they, including the
servants, would be looking for me and I was nowhere and the cause of much
consternation. It was really less about my mother and more about me and my fantasy
life. I was pretty much a tomboy and a ragamuffin. Mother was elegant and well
groomed. She was a model once. I would scream bloody murder when required to don
a dress. |
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Having read the article about Eugenia in the Victoria mag. I purchased
at the airport, I was driven to e-mail ( which is not like me).
Having lived in an orphanage, foster homes, adopted at 4 with my
adoptive father dying when I was 5 due to radiation poisoning from the
Atom Bomb at Hiroshima. My mother for all practical purposes died that
day as well, even though she lived to be 91. Never to remarry, date or
even attempt to live with a little happiness. But, of course, my
adoptive brother was somewhat of a problem, genuis level, but also
mental, caused her much heart ache through the years. So my mother sent
me down the road to stay with my Grandmother. What a blessing.
It was there at Grandmaw’s house that I learned about unconditional
love, great food, roses, gardening, God and music ( since she had earned
her music degree in the late 1800’s and traveled by horse back teaching,
violin, saxophone, piano, organ, and flute lessons to children in one
room school houses) and the art of dressing up. My grandmother gave me
the freedom to roam through her closets, dressers, jewelry boxes, attic
and garage. I am not sure what my life would have been like if it were
not for Lillie Mae Van Meter. My best friend. Even with our 70 year age
difference.
I traveled the world, married 100’s of times, became rich and famous,
was even royalty, all in that little 2 bedroom house with the old porch
swing. I played, pretended, lived a thousand lives, and was able to
totally hide from my real life, just by dressing up and making believe
in those wonderful old 1800’s and early 1900’s clothes, hats, and
gloves. I even used her old sheer curtains for wedding veils. I was lost
in time.
Not wanting to bore you, but making sure you understand, that the act of
dressing up went further than with most children, it was actually a form
of therapy for me as a child. Unfortunately, somewhat of a
disappointment to my mother, since my passion was then and still art,
even though I was forbidden to draw. I eventually picked up a pencil
much later in life and ended up leaving a career to create an art
enrichment program for children. ArtSmart Kids works with art risk
children, special needs children and adults, basically any child or
adult we can work with. In the last 3 years we have worked with over
10,000 children and adults. What a blessing. |
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My Mother passed away in 1976 at the age of 82. Born in 1894. St.Croix,
VI She is still with me almost on a daily basis. Never was I spanked.
Mom talked, in a calm philosophical manner. One look and you knew what
to stop immediately. Fondest memories: Whenever she put on my socks, she
would pinch the toe of the socks and give a pull, releasing the tension
on my toes. I related this to my daughter and am touched when her young
friends became mothers and tell me that they do the same thing.
A most unusual morning when I was nine and my Mother scolded me for
something I had not done. I had a heavy heart that day. Every night
before her bedtime my Mom would sit on the side of her bed with one foot
tucked under her and the other tapping the floor (I did not know then),
but that was her way of reviewing her day. She called me, saying, “This
morning when I scolded you, there was a look in your eyes. What did
you want to say.” My heart felt as though it would burst with love for
her. Knowing that she observed and remembered the look in my eyes
all through her busy, busy day. She put her arms around me and we
talked. She apologized for her misinterpretation and kissed me.
She never seemed to be disappointed when looked forward to plans had to
be changed. She would cheerfully say, “Oh that is just a delayed
pleasure.” This concept has served me well.
Lavender was also her scent. Although it is not a scent that I used in
perfume and toilet water, I am comforted by the scent in soap and
sachet. If am upset, I will place a lavender scented soap/sachet under
my pillow.
After class in 3rd grade, I excitedly told her that we learned that
honesty was the best policy. With a smile she asked, “Why.” I shrugged
and said, “Because." She responded with, “We are not honest in order to
receive a medal or applause, but in fairness to other known and unknown
persons and to like what we see when we look into a mirror.” I can’t tell
you how that has served me over the years.
Whenever anyone would try to share mean gossip with her, she would smile
at them and counter with some remark like, “I heard that your daughter
did very well at her first concert,” or some similar comment that would
engage their attention. Even as a small child I would wonder, “How does
she do that so smoothly.” I am not that good at it. Well, my Mom is well
remembered by me and others who were affected by her warm, honest,
caring personality.
I remember being very small, holding her hand as we shopped. We would
pass a little freckled faced child with flaming red hair and she would
comment on one of Mother Nature’s beauties, next block a chocolate
colored child and she would make a similar comment and so it went block
after block. I was sixteen before I discovered that people existed who
had negative feelings about others just based on color or eye shape etc.
She also likened the differences in people to the interesting, joyous
experience of walking a through a flower garden filled with different
colors, shapes and scents. |
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Questions
What are your earliest recollections of sneaking into your mother’s
closet?
Were you forbidden to go in, or did you simply sense that you might be
trespassing?
What words first come to mind when you think about your early
recollections of being in your mother’s closet?
What do you most remember about the closet?
Shoes? Clothing? Lingerie?
And what did it feel like in there?
What sights and sounds and smells and textures do you remember? And the
closet . . . was it a walk-in?
You may wish to include bureau drawers as part of this recollection,
whether or not they were actually in the closet. Did you go through her
drawers?
Did you try things on, and how did you feel wearing your mother’s
things?
Did handbags, or hats (if she had them), gloves, etc have special
allure? What was your favorite object in her closet and why?
Was the closet neat, organized, chaotic?
Was there anything scary about the closet? A dark enclosed space, did it
ever seem to harbor danger?
Did you want to be like your mother, look like her? Was going into her
things perhaps a way of trying on “being” her?
Was the closet mysterious, magical, comforting? Was it a haven, a
sanctuary?
If you had siblings, did you ever take any of them into the closet with
you, or was it your private time in there that you most coveted?
If you came from a large family, did you have private space of your own?
Was your mother’s closet a place where you could find that private
space? What did you do in your mother’s closet? Was it a place
where your imagination took flight? Did you daydream, make wishes, play?
Did it make you feel closer to your mother to go into her closet? Do you
think you were looking for her secrets? Did you find any of her
secrets . . . letters, objects, something surprising or
unsettling?
Did you find things your father may have given her, and if so, did those
things take on special connotations, for example, i.e. lingerie evoking
a “special” relationship little girls imagine but can’t
yet figure out? Did you experience feelings of jealousy or competition?
Did you learn anything about your parents’ relationship in the
closet?
Was there anything ceremonial for you about going into her closet? Did
you have a sense of it being important at the time?
Did you watch your mother getting dressed? Did her rituals of putting on
make-up or “preparing” herself impact on you? Did she seem to
enjoy having you in her bedroom to watch, or help her? Did it seem like
a transformation? Did you go through her make-up and put it on when she
was out?
Little girls know they will one day be women, but the transformation
from caterpillar to butterfly is such a mystery and seems so far away.
Did being in your mother’s closet or going through her things help
in any way to demystify that transformation for you?
Did going through your mother’s things in any way help you to
separate from her? Were you able in some way to “reject”
anything about her by, perhaps, saying something to yourself like,
“She might wear that horrid girdle, but when I grow up I
won’t.”
If you have children, do (or did) any of them go through your closet? If
so, how do you feel about your own daughter(s) or son(s) going into your
things?
If there is one thing that you most treasured/coveted in or about your
mother’s closet, what would that be? Do you now have it?
How would you characterize your relationship with your mother when you
were of closet-sleuthing age? Was there something essential about who
she was in that closet? Can you say what you learned about her in her
closet?
What is your fondest memory of your mother?
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