Flying Objects
Updated: 1 day ago
1967: I had just been reunited with my mother after living apart for 6 years: seemingly happy here. Only as an adult through therapy did I learn how deeply enmeshed my mother and I had become.
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By the time I was eight years old I was pretty darn good at navigating the direction in which a conversation between Mum and my Nana was heading.
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When the amber light started to flash, I’d creep away to my room, and very slowly, tiptoe back down the hall. My eyes and ears were like a recording device. Words with strong intonation would be filed and reassessed later in order to piece together the argument at hand.
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I’d scan the room, watch for specific gestures, body language, the shift in the weight. It was similar to watching a play repeatedly, or for that matter, a wrestling match.
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I was familiar with the props and developed the ability to know how each actor would react, and which object might get hurled across the room.
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Timing is key in order to avoid a flying object or a slap across the face.
Sandra Topper is a Semi-Retired Aromachologist & Perfumer
Working now on a Memoir: My Mum said. "You can Figure it out when I'm Dead"
Family Secrets & Generational Trauma
© 2025 Sandra Topper All Content Protected
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