Emily Stewart- Shrine

            I chose to make a shrine for my grandmother because she has been an important person in my life even though she died before I was able to know he well. She died from breast cancer when I was four, and though my memories of her are vague, I missed her greatly. Many of my memories of my time with her are organized around tangible things, some of which I have and treasure. When I was little, a lot of my time with my grandmother was spent in her living room. She had a box of toys for me to play with, and I would sit on the floor and play while she sat on the couch and talked to me. I have a little toy dragon from that box that would be in my shrine if it was with me here at school. Since I don’t have the actual objects with me, I chose similar ones to stand in for them. The scarf in the bottom of my box represents one of hers that I have. The necklace represents the costume jewelry that I used to play with at her house, which she left to me when she died. The owl represents a little porcelain cardinal that she bought for me at a flea market. When I think of my memories of her, these objects come to mind.

            My grandmother is also important to me because my father looked up to her and tells me a lot of stories about her from his childhood. I chose the cinnamon both because she used to give me cinnamon gram crackers when I left her house and because it’s important to one of those stories. Nanny was a great cook and left us many family recipes, but one night she mistakenly made chili with cinnamon instead of chili powder. The kids told her, but she wouldn’t admit that it was true. She was a bit stubborn, something I can relate to. These kinds of stories are also why I chose pictures of her from before I knew her for the lid of the shrine. My memories of being with her are important, but the memories that others have shared with me are equally so.

            Finally, I chose to include the book Visions of Gerard for several reasons. It is probably my favorite book, and I was never completely sure why until I finished a paper on it at the end of last term and reflected on it again. It is a story about Kerouac’s older brother, who died when they were 3 and 9. Gerard was an inspirational figure for Kerouac, and his mother always held him up as a role model. Though that is not my experience, I think I relate to the way you remember someone you lose when you are very young and learn to look up to through stories because of Nanny. This book is also beautifully written and spiritual, both in Buddhist and Catholic ways. As a religious woman and an avid reader, I think my grandmother would have liked it, and it is something I would share with her if she were here.

Ian McDonald- Shrine

For my shrine, I wanted to memorialize my pet hedgehog, Stormy. He passed away about 10 days ago. I haven’t felt ready to pack up his cage yet, and I came to realize that his cage had become a shrine for me. I buried him that night, but the rest of his cage was the same. Part of my nightly ritual was to come home, play with him for a half hour, feed him, and refill his bottle of water. Now, I come home and I’m reminded of his absence.

I didn’t bring his cage into class, in part because I want this to be a moveable shrine. He was my travel buddy. I lived in DC this past summer, so whenever I went home, he was riding shotgun. Similarly, when I went home for Thanksgiving or Christmas, I brought him home with me.

As for the pieces I did bring in to class, each of them represent part of my memory of Stormy. First, there was his wheel. To me, this is the centerpiece of the shrine. Watching him run was hilarious. I also know that it was something he loved. I spent a lot of time trying to find the right wheel for him. I ended up buying and returning probably 5 different wheels before I found one that made him happy. To me, the wheel is representative of both something Stormy enjoyed and the effort I put in to keep him satisfied. Next, there is his food bowl. Like I said, part of my nightly ritual was to fill it up. The fact that its empty is a reminder that he is no longer with me. Because he was nocturnal, most nights I would wake up to him crunching away at his food. Now, the silence is another reminder of his absence. I also included his heat lamp, because that was another ritual that I remember in its absence. I used to swap out his heat bulb and a ceramic heat bulb every morning and night. That way, he could be warm and happy, but also not have his sleep cycles messed up. Finally, I included his sleeping bag. He wouldn’t use this to sleep in on a nightly basis. However, I used it when I was traveling to keep him comfortable. I included it in my shrine, in part, because of the symbolism between sleep and death.

            Whenever I was packing to go home, Stormy and his cage would be the last things I would pack up. I imagine when I finish packing everything up to leave Lexington, the last thing I’ll pack up will be his cage. I doubt I will unpack it. For me, this shrine is less about creative action and more about avoiding destructive action. It almost feels as though I can keep him alive by refusing to pack up his stuff. The reminders that are caused by his absence make me feel like he isn’t completely gone yet.

Personal Shrine -- William Zhou

Most of the memory I have about my grandfather are related to his orange trees. I used to spend most of my summer with my grandparents until I came to the US. They live in a very small town that’s about four hours away from Wuhan, where I am from. My grandpa started planting orange trees when my dad was a kid, and it turned into a hill full of orange trees. The hill was my favorite place to play as a kid. Also, my grandpa would always plant watermelon on the ground beneath the orange trees during summer.

I intend to use the slanted base to represent the hill. And I made the base with red cardboard because this is the color that best represents the mud in my hometown. The red mud we have is a result of the high temperature and humidity, and it is less fertile compare to other kind of mud. My grandpa raised my dad and his six siblings with his oranges upon this red mud.

The color of the oranges are exactly how I remembered them to be towards the end of August, before I leave my grandparents’ place. Even though some of them never turn yellow, and they are not the prettiest oranges, they are the best oranges that contain so much childhood memory and memory about grandpa. My grandma still ships us buckets of oranges every summer.  Even though grandpa is no longer with us, him and his oranges still impact our entire family in many ways.