I have a memory room.
No, it’s not the space in my head where each remembrance is filed away under categories titled brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews or friends and occasions.
Rather it is the modest area in our bonus room where I construct and create the stories of my family’s years since the birth of Nicholas. I feel it’s vital for him to have recollections of the persons who are intricately woven through the cloth of life.
However, since arriving home from Ohio where I inherited six crates of aged slides, photographs and newspaper articles that belonged to my Grandmother, at present I am the keeper of memories. I take this responsibility seriously-as did my Grandma.
Grandma was born in 1900 and it was a rare occurrence to witness her without a camera, presumably an old Kodak would be my guess. Every family happening and episode was chronicled through photos and slides and now each is in my possession.
Although Grandma died in 1986 leaving behind a bitter divisive family –consequences of greed and selfishness; the multitude of snapshots account for every person in my childhood devoid of experiences of divorce, death, or disconnect.
Therefore I am immersed in my past which belies a surplus of sentiments-many blogs in the making I presume. It commenced with a drive by of the farmhouse in December where my Grandparents settled and stumbled upon much of my upbringing as it was the hideaway from the cruel part of my early days.
|the farm house on Hepler Road|
|the side of the house|
For those moments I breathed the fragrance of the hay and envisioned soaring down the hill on a sled with my siblings landing in the icy chilly creek below. I surveyed the patch under the buckeye trees where my cousins and I could acquire 25 cents a grocery bag for the nuts. I inspected the porches where the dogs Yippy, Queenie and Rover rested on any given warm summer day.Entangled in my head are the memories...so if you are looking for me, I'm in my room with an old fashioned slide projector reuniting the people of my past.
“The things which the child loves remain in the domain of the heart until old age. The most beautiful thing in life is that our souls remaining over the places where we once enjoyed ourselves.”
by Kahlil Gibran