I’m on the shelf. My expiration date unwritten—pickled, salty, sour, sweet, and crunchy. I’ve been sitting here for a long time in Kerr glass, my ringed lid rusty. Unopened. Un-openable, except by the strongest hands.
Immediately next to me sits a small rag doll made with the sloppy, loving hand, stitches, and eye of a child, Megan Wood (born McKenzie, then Brown, eventually McClard). She wears an embroidered pinafore over a plaid dress. Red plaited pigtails trail down her back. A fringe of hair partially covers one of her black eyes. Her name is Miranda.
If you look closely, you can see the absence of her left leg. My mother had a sad story to tell about that. Her biological father—whom she didn’t know was her father until adulthood—had given her a fluffy Chow Chow puppy called Ching. Mother always claimed that Ching hated her from the outset, only loving her foster mother, Mother Wood. One day, she found Miranda in Ching’s mouth, hanging by her leg. In the struggle to get her away from the nasty beast, Miranda lost it.
Miranda was my mother’s best friend until her foster mother took her away. Later, her biological mother, Mrs. McKenzie (my grandmother), would return Miranda to her maker. Mother Wood, her foster mother, felt that my mother’s attachment to the doll was unhealthy, even sinful—which is why she sent her away to my grandmother, the wicked seed from whom my mother sprang.
As my mother lay dying last year, she referred to Miranda as her best friend. She wanted to see her. I retrieved her from the box on the shelf where she kept a few other meaningful trinkets from childhood. Miranda is now ninety years old, still here after all mothers have passed to the next world. Miranda remains on the shelf next to me, along with stories of the girl who made her and the woman who made me.
This is the first installment of vignettes entitled “On the Shelf,” as told from the perspective of a Kerr jar. I hope you enjoyed it. I would love to hear from you about things on your shelf!
To read more about my mother’s life and times, order her memoir:
What a lovely perspective this Kerr jar has.