DIANA REPUBLIC

When I was about ten years old my family moved from Manhattan to Contoocook, New Hampshire. It was quite a culture shock for us all, but for my mother it was different. When we left our apartment on West 84th street behind, we left behind her friends Macys and Bloomingdales among others. New Hampshire in the 1970′s was not exactly a mecca of brand names unless you were looking for Carharts or Levis.

Once we had a permanent address Mom began to accumulate catalog subscriptions. The closest real department stores were in Boston and that wasn’t a road trip she was inclined to make. Catalog shopping could never replace actual shopping trips, however.

It was not long before my mother discovered the cathedrals of discount shopping: Marshalls and TJ Maxx. She learned that with a little time and patience these stores held the rewards of brand name clothing and at reduced prices. Over the years the importance of the brand names was surpassed by the thrill of the deal. Mom loved the shoes and the tchotchkes; the more unusual the better – sometimes even the gaudy. No matter that the high heeled hoochie shoes she loved were a little out of place for Contoocook’s terrain and social calendar. For Mom shopping at Marshalls and TJ Maxx became more of a treasure hunt and it was a treasure I shared with her growing up. 

I have always loved discount shopping. When I was younger it was a financial necessity and as I grew more financially independent, it just became one of the few shopping expeditions that I truly enjoyed. I am not a big fan of the mall. It could be the deals, but more than likely it is the connection that I had with my mother. Where ever I lived or traveled, I could wander through a Marshalls and feel her. 

My mother passed away more than ten years ago. I have never visited her grave site. She is buried in Connecticut with her mother, father and brother. I have no other reason to go to Connecticut and I don’t feel compelled. I visit with my mother now at Marshalls. I know that may seem strange to some, hell to most, but I feel connected to her when I wander the aisles looking for treasures. When I am down or just really missing Mom, I make time to take a pass though my local outpost and whether I have success or not, I usually see at least one item that makes me smile. It could be a funky pair of heels or a picture frame. Last week it was this:

A huge ceramic painted pig, who doesn’t need one of those? I laughed out loud and smiled all the way out of the store. It was all I could do not to bring it home in my mother’s honor.

Miss you, Mom