Category Archives: Fashion

STORY – Cloth, Manor & Fable

Monique Germon has launched a new collection of tales, images and treasures at STORY. Chapter one is named Cloth, Manor & Fable. Here we share a preview of the richness you will find on this extraordinary retail site – Daniela Miotto’s Tale of Generosity from the STORY site:

TALES OF GENEROSITY – WINNING ENTRY BY DANIELA MIOTTOWhen I sit to consider an individual tale of generosity that’s been granted to me and mine, there are so many to list. I suppose this in itself is a large enough ember to warm my hands by for the rest of my lifetime. Yet, one act of selflessness and offering sans condition does stand alone.Here is Jackie. She is tall. Her hair is bobbed and her teeth are dull coloured with a tip made of gold in the front. When she talks about her husband she calls him “Fuckin’ Pete”. Often her chin is placed in a permanent shrug. This makes me wonder about her thoughts. I never know what’s happening inside her, but I never worry about where she’s at. I like Jackie.She was my mother’s true friend.Here is Kay. She was my mother. She killed herself in August 2006. On the day she died I thought I could feel the ground shaking from the body weight of all of those who loved her falling to their knees in disbelief upon hearing the news of her violent fate. We were gutted and knee-capped. We still are.On that day Jackie came to my house. I sat shaking my head. She kneeled holding my hand. We couldn’t even cry.This death caused a shattering and scattering of people. I’ve heard this is common when death-by-self happens. Near no one from my mother’s life came to our aid. Near no one could place their grief and shock aside to come to the aid of their friend’s orphaned adult children. Jackie though. She did.She followed me around for weeks. I barely remember her face or voice from that time.Her gift to me was presence. She placed her broken heart behind mine.She didn’t tell me what clothes to choose to bury mum in. She stood behind me while I ripped clothes out of her cupboard and threw them all over the room … scattering and shattering. When I finally I chose, hours later, she muttered “Good job” and carried the bag of clothes and my heart to her car ready for another trip to the funeral director.When I had to choose a box for burial, she was there. When I had to choose to view the body or not, she was there. Silent. When I, when I, when I and then. She was there. Silent. Tall. Bobbed. And likely to have been “Fuckin’ Kay-ing” under her breath.Five years later she is still there. Now though she chats, we laugh and she bakes us bread. Still though in her silent way, she pays homage to her friend Kay by placing her children’s pain in front of her own. And for this act of love and faith to my mother and generosity of self to me and mine I will be forever grateful.Jackie is tall.*© 2011-12 Daniela MiottoThank you Daniela and to all those who entered, for sharing your tales of generosity with us.When I sit to consider an individual tale of generosity that’s been granted to me and mine, there are so many to list. I suppose this in itself is a large enough ember to warm my hands by for the rest of my lifetime. Yet, one act of selflessness and offering sans condition does stand alone.
Here is Jackie. She is tall. Her hair is bobbed and her teeth are dull coloured with a tip made of gold in the front. When she talks about her husband she calls him “Fuckin’ Pete”. Often her chin is placed in a permanent shrug. This makes me wonder about her thoughts. I never know what’s happening inside her, but I never worry about where she’s at. I like Jackie.

She was my mother’s true friend.

Here is Kay. She was my mother. She killed herself in August 2006. On the day she died I thought I could feel the ground shaking from the body weight of all of those who loved her falling to their knees in disbelief upon hearing the news of her violent fate. We were gutted and knee-capped. We still are.

On that day Jackie came to my house. I sat shaking my head. She kneeled holding my hand. We couldn’t even cry.

This death caused a shattering and scattering of people. I’ve heard this is common when death-by-self happens. Near no one from my mother’s life came to our aid. Near no one could place their grief and shock aside to come to the aid of their friend’s orphaned adult children. Jackie though. She did.

She followed me around for weeks. I barely remember her face or voice from that time.

Her gift to me was presence. She placed her broken heart behind mine.

She didn’t tell me what clothes to choose to bury mum in. She stood behind me while I ripped clothes out of her cupboard and threw them all over the room … scattering and shattering. When I finally I chose, hours later, she muttered “Good job” and carried the bag of clothes and my heart to her car ready for another trip to the funeral director.

When I had to choose a box for burial, she was there. When I had to choose to view the body or not, she was there. Silent. When I, when I, when I and then. She was there. Silent. Tall. Bobbed. And likely to have been “Fuckin’ Kay-ing” under her breath.

Five years later she is still there. Now though she chats, we laugh and she bakes us bread. Still though in her silent way, she pays homage to her friend Kay by placing her children’s pain in front of her own. And for this act of love and faith to my mother and generosity of self to me and mine I will be forever grateful.

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