Category: Elder Folk
I pull out a box from a closet shelf, and bring it into my livingroom. It's heavy, full of memories, priceless treasures of eras gone by.
I sit down on the floor, open it, and sit, with my legs folded, while The afternoon sun slants through my window, and a distant train goes to an unknown destination.
I pull out a board, weathered and gray, and you ask, "What is that?" I tell you about the house it came from, a house built in the 40's after a little boy's death, a house that now is remodeled by another family, but whose foundation still stands.
I pull out a picture of a young couple in their early twenties. "Who is that?" you ask, and I tell you it's my parents, the producers of generations, the ones who taught me right from wrong, who sustained me through the hard times of my childhood.
There's other memories too:
ticket stubs from the first movie I went to, a match box containing a lock of curls from my youngest son's infancy, a bottle of perfume given to me by my first boyfriend. There's pictures, letters from special people in my life, and my first Barbie doll. There's ribbons I wore when I went on dates, my high school diploma, signifying my first steps into adulthood, and pictures of me as a bride and a parent. There are some who will not care about these things when I'm gone, but some who will.
Isn't it funny what some call junk, and others call treasures. I will someday pass on the legacies of my life to those whom I've impacted, the treasures of a sentimental lady. I will pass on memories, objects of mystery, and pieces of my personality.
Dream Lady, this reminds me of a book Lisa and I read recently. I'm going to get the author totally wrong I know, because of my memory, but it's called the button box, and it's by ... something like Barbara Mcbride-Smith. That was a wonderful book, (well short story really), and this is a great post.
How did I miss this? It's excellent.
I, myself, don't keep memorabilia because much of it reminds me of pain, but your post makes me wish I did.
Bob
Thanks guys. I know when I helped my sister with her apartment, we found things she'd kept from the fifties. Letters, pictures, and even a diary she'd kept. Can you imagine how priceless that stuff will be to her daughter. Wow. Please post the author of the book. I'd love to read it. Thanks again, and I hope other people tell of the stuff they've kept. I know after my brother's death in 1947, my mom kept a trunk containing his stuff. Locks of his hair, his homework, and the newspapers from his paper routte. He drowned when he was 14. My family wouldn't part with those items now.
When my mom died I found a short letter she'd written to my dad when they were young. Nothing scandalous or particularly revealing, except that she referred to him in the diminutive: Johnny instead of John. I'd never heard her call him that. He was always a big, strong Army Colonel, not a boyfriend. Her letter was a little window into a whole different world.