"Observing the Ordinary": Oranges, My Home and Some Toothbrushes

Mottinelli, S. Arance Art Print. (allposters.com)

(photo taken by Danna Whittman)

This piece, "Ode to a Toothbrush" was inspired by Larry Woiwode's essay "Ode to an Orange." His essay documents the simple bliss of eating an orange, especially as he remembers what a treat it was to have one during the North Dakotan winters of his youth. He and his brother would beg their mother for an orange as if it was a piece of precious candy. They would pretend to be sick in order to get one, as the healing properties of vitamin C were sure to get you an orange if you were ill.

Woiwode's words inspire one to look at something often taken for granted, like this orange, and see it as something wondrous. "Each orange, stripped of its protective wrapping, as vivid in your vision as a pebbled sun, encouraged you to picture a whole pyramid of them in a bowl on your dining room table, glowing with light, as if giving off the warmth that came through the windows from the real winter sun. (Woiwode 45)" Oranges, in his description, give off a vivid warmth, their flavor savored because it was special and rare. In this world where we often don't appreciate the fact that we can have an orange whenever we want, we see what it meant to him.

Woiwode goes on to describe the different ways an orange can be eaten, seemingly thought of because it consumed his mind as a child. There is a certain joy in peeling an orange, though the most humorous is when he says the top of the orange can be bitten off like a "detonator", comparing it to a grenade, where one can then stick a straw into it, suck out the juice and then eat the remains.

This essay inspired me to document the meaning of these toothbrushes, relics of a time when my fiance's family regularly used our cabin home for vacation weekends. The reality of their experience was that their father built this cabin; their memories of him are inextricably tied to it. When we were cleaning out the cabin in preparation for moving in, we found these toothbrushes and were transported to another time. The names "Edward" and "Ralph" are engraved in black ink along the handles, handles meant to fit into the hands of a child. It's so funny to me, as I've only known Eddie and Ralph as adults, Ralph being my future father-in-law! I might be imposing my interpretation of their childhood memories upon these toothbrushes, but I imagine holding them, brushing my teeth with the "Dupont nylon bristles" as the snow falls outside, hearing John build a father to keep the cabin warm. The shiny blue plastic would gleam as I placed the brushes back into the medicine cabinet, safe for another night.