Letters from Eric
Meaningful Object series
A few years ago, my friend Joey Plaster met in Dolores Park to brainstorm a storytelling project we could collaborate on together. We landed on a concept that was a mutual interest: the objects that people have in their personal archives.
We reached out to a couple friends. Would they tell us the stories behind the meaningful objects they can’t let go of in their life?
This object might be something you have on display in your home. Or maybe it’s in a closet, stashed in a cardboard box on the top shelf.
It might not appear to be of deep value to anyone else, but for you it’s a portal.
Whenever you hold it, touch it, or stumble upon it in a drawer— it reconnects you to a feeling, a memory, a relationship, an experience.
Here’s a few examples:
Debbie’s Ring Box
I had major middle child syndrome— “nobody really loves me”— until Harry married my grandmother when I was four. He made me feel like he loved me more than anyone else. He gave this to me and whenever I look at it I smile and remember him.
Katie’s Pistachio Shell “Duck”
My dad would eat pistachios on the back porch every night. He did slate and tile work so he would often be out on the porch with a paper and a pen, doing some sort of design for a pool or slate waterfall. If you wanted to talk to him, you would sit outside on the porch and just withstand his cigarette smoke. In high school — more than 25 years ago— he doodled on a pistachio shell while we were talking. It was probably nothing to him, but I thought it was cute and put it in my pocket. It has resided in my jewelry box ever since. I haven’t lost it even though I’ve moved over 30 times in the last 30 years.
We were pretty poor and he couldn’t afford to buy us big presents. For me, this drawing on a pistachio shell shows how he used his creativity and the resources that he had, to make art out of nothing. This kind of approach would inspire me later when I studied art in college, though I’m not sure if I connected it with him at the time.
My dad passed away in 2016 and he didn’t leave much behind. This pistachio shell is not a family heirloom. It’s literal garbage. But it’s something he touched. And because he did, he made nothing into something.
Christine’s Nursery Lamp
I bought this cool little lamp in Jerusalem. It was for a nursery. I don't know if I ever told anyone that's why I bought it but... that's why I bought it. I was dating someone at the time, and it was kind of a given that he and I were going to get married when we graduated and have kids, so I thought it would be a neat kind of story piece.
Fast forward to me at 42 sans kids and I still carry that goddamned lamp with me every place I move to. I put it on top of my dresser, even though it hasn't worked in 20 years, it's torn in places and it isn't even that cool looking.
It's completely unconnected to the relationship— which I bounced from shortly after graduating— but I guess even though I have "come to terms" with not having kids I obviously need that parallel unrealized life to exist in some way with the life I ended up with.
There has never been a moment that I thought to part with it.
What’s the meaningful object in your personal archive that tells a story?
Joey and I recorded a few friends and their stories about meaningful objects:
David’s story about a Werther's Original’s tin full of foreign currency.
Nathan told a story about a cheap gold necklace that spells ‘Daddy Nay Nay’ in cursive.
Haroon told me one about a faded receipt from a library book about the French filmmaker Claire Denis.
And lastly - in a multi-episode series I’m working on with my friend radio producer Al Shiabani - a story that follows the paper soul of a famous DJ, framed and sold on eBay.
These are the upcoming stories in this series, and will be posted whenever they are finished!
But first up is Letters from Eric, which explores the enduring impact of a childhood friendship.
Listen to it in the embedded Spotify player below, or on Apple Podcasts.