Years ago, during a visit to my hometown of Cleveland Heights, Ohio, I found a wonderful vintage purse at a local thrift store, which I purchased without hesitating twice. Returning to my folks’ house, I showed it proudly to my mother. She gave it a quick look and remarked dryly, “That’s the bag I just donated to that shop. You know you bought something that was once mine.”
Even within that anonymous context, I knew she was pleased that I now owned something that had once been hers. She and I could clash on matters large and small, but in matters of taste, I am definitely my mother’s daughter.