On a shelf in my medicine cabinet, I had a box of Yardley's Olde English Lavendar soap. It was my Aunt Jennie's favorite brand. I think it was actually her box of soap. (Considering she died in the late '80s, that's quite the box of soap.) I'd hung onto it, saving it, feeling a certain kinship to my family, through countless moves. So the other week, at last, I opened the box.
Inside was some cheap bar of hotel soap. And I thought, really, could it be any more symbolic? I hold onto something, treasuring it as an emblem of my family, and it turns out to be only pretty packaging around a cheap generic item that means nothing.
Fortunately, I'm somewhat beyond being saddened by this. Mostly I just figure it's typical and am glad to be raising my own family, immune to the issues created by my family of origin.
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