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Rolf Haubl, sociologist and psychoanalyst, insists that the role of objects is to carry memories. The real meaning of the thing then is within its mnemonic value. In a way, the chair becomes a sort of transformational object, gaining more significance after the passing of its owner. Granny Puckett’s essence and memory have been absorbed into it, especially for those left in her wake, who recognize the chair as an experience of remembrance.

We depend on the chair to bring back memories of Granny Puckett. Those who knew or heard stories of her experience the chair in different ways that deepen our connection to her. These stories create a history around the object, signifying the biography of the object itself, which “is no longer simply a dead or inanimate thing,” as Clive Dilnot proposes. “It possesses—or we attribute to it in our imaginations—sentience and power.”

By their nature, heirlooms tend to carry extra significance. The chair as a family heirloom is now a device that conjures memory and connection across time.

The biography of an object should not be restricted to an historical reconstruction of its birth, life and death. Biography is relational and an object biography is comprised of the sum of the relationships that constitute it.

“The result is that the internet now feels like a place whose sole purpose is selling you something.”

As doctors, we know full well that tracking the baby’s heart rate during labor has increased interventions but has not improved outcomes. In simpler terms, tracking the baby’s heart rate during labor has gotten more women induced or sliced open, but has not decreased stillbirths or postpartum deaths. Then why do we do it? Because it’s scary not to, that’s why. And I speak from experience.

Imagining such a scene made me laugh:

Why does it bother adults so much when kids do things reserved for adults? The idea of a foul-mouthed, cynical 10 year old leaning against a lamppost with a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth is very disconcerting. But why?