. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . where ImagInatIon comes to play

Wednesday, February 20, 2013


The scale had carried the weight of mother, father, brother, sister. Boarders, strangers. Fifty years had gone by, but only once had it been given a make-over, back when shag was considered acceptable tapestry for bathroom floors. She didn't know why she held on to it except that it had been passed down to her several years ago and she had never owned a scale of her own.

It worked fine if you knew to subtract 2.25 lbs from its total. Staring down at it, waiting for it to settle, it swished its squeaky wheel back and forth until it came to a decision. It worked fine alright, as long as you were willing to hold your breath and wait. As long as you didn't mind lugging the heavy piece out from under the tub, where it hid from the eyes of those who owned lighter, kinder scales. Prettier scales. Scales that didn't remind you of fifty years of weight.


norton said...

There are lots of stories in even the most innocuous of family heirlooms. Thanks for the reminder. Thanks for sharing. A great story.

Marjolaine Hébert said...

Thank you, norton.