Mortar and Pestle
Mortar and Pestle
This bronze mortar and pestle is our oldest family heirloom. We don’t know too much about its history, but it probably dates back to the 19th century and was brought over from the “old country” (Russia) by my father’s grandmother. There are no maker’s marks, only dings from love and use.
I don’t have any connection to my father’s family anymore, it was a small family circle to start with and he died when I was little. But I am named after my paternal Grandfather, Simon, my middle name is Simone. I never met Simon, he passed away before I was born, but the stories I have been told recall a cold man that was not very happy. I have a memory of my father and I taking a walk one autumn day, this must have been the fall before he died, I was 7. He told me that it was very important to reach out to people whose loved one pass away, because then they will reach out to you when the people you care about pass away. He said that my grandfather did not do this and that when my grandmother died he became bitter and hateful. The memories I have of my father are only a few, but those are very clear, and this is one of them.
So fast forward to my college years, this is the funny story (I think its funny) about how all the stories of my grandfathers grumpiness were confirmed. I went to Syracuse University where I studied Metalsmithing. Syracuse is where my father grew up and where my parents met and fell in love while my mother attended Syracuse for Home Economics. One week my maternal great aunt Nettie came to town to participate in an Elderhostle class at Syracuse. I attended an evening happy hour to visit with my aunt and meet some of her friends. She introduced me to a friendly gentleman , one of her classmates, and on hearing my name he shook my hand and said, ” Schlossberg? Schlossberg? Are you related to that bastard Simon?.” Now this was the first time, and the only time, I had met anyone who knew of my father’s family. But they had lived in Syracuse, this was my dad’s hometown, so I admitted, “Yes, that’s my grandfather.” Affirmed, he continued, “Well I punched that bastard out on a rowboat in the middle of Lake Erie.” I had to chuckle the whole scene was so surreal. My aunt had no idea what was going on. I think its a funny story, maybe not everyone would.
Family Tree
The family I know more about is my maternal family. Pictured is a family tree drawn by a great uncle years ago. Recently, my mom gave me a letter written by him about our family’s history and I learned that my 4th great grandfather was…a blacksmith! I will write more about my history with metalsmithing and blacksmithing in a later post, but for now you can take a look at Dirigible Designs, my jewelry website, and know that this metalsmithing behavior is truly hereditary. The letter also tells a story about how his son changed his name from Zaretsky to Berg to escape the police after going AWOL from the army. As a jew in eastern Europe at that time things were not easy, so no judgement, but I do like knowing there is grit in my tree. I rely on it.
