2000-10-12 - 20:47 MDT

October 12, 2000

Mementos

Memento -- trinket of rememberance, I guess each of us have at least several of them I know I do. Somewhere is my old sidewalk roller skate key, the one which hurt so much when I took a tumble and fell on it. Promotional key rings from over the years fall in that category. Then in my box are some tie bars which clipped the necktie to the shirtfront. Each are associated with certain periods of life, as I caress them with my fingers my old mental movie is being viewed, to the exclusion of the present. Tie Tacks which were the next thing to become stylish also rattle around in there. Once in a great while I use one of those mementos to tack one of the two ties I own -- weddings and funerals is about all any more. Heather has about given up gussying me up, and the occasions we take part in are very informal -- ties not required -- pants are. I run into something and wonder what it is and what memory it should be tied to -- sometimes with success and other times not.

Some of our mementos are large pieces, furniture which lives in our childhood memories and is still with us. Not all old things of course, but what we have are treasured things. Some are quite thin, individually but do become quite a bale when stacked -- pieces of cloth intended for quilts also from our childhood and on up. Various pieces of needle work, crocheting, knitting are still with us and stir our memories. The big heavy, nicely framed mirror which hung on the wall in my Dad's front room now has wall space in the dining room over our buffet which is part of Mom and Dad's dining set. Pictures -- an unbelievable amount -- mostly sorted and in albums, but some still waiting for their booking. Heather has and treasures things like the scissors her Mom had and many of her sewing things.

Heather and I have been passing along to our children various mementos of their grandparents since 1982 including jewelry which only has value really, as mementos of their grandparents. We see them when we visit, there is furniture scattered among the kids that our parents had. Nothing ever gets disposed of, there is a piece of furniture that I made long ago, bookshelves, which is passed from one of our progeny to another as the need arises. The little red foot stool I made for our youngest daughter in 1966 or 67, something I drew up and rough sawed and then, lacking equipment used rasps, a jacknife, various grades of sandpaper mixed with elbow grease and sweat -- assembled and fastened and glued, then laboriously painted, sanded and repainted until it shone. Daughter loved it and when she had her daughter it was given to her to give to her daughter along with its history. Two benches made of pinewood no nail or glue used to make them, built by my uncle along about the time I had begun to talk, one has gone to my youngest daughter and is at the foot of the bed in the guest room. The other is at the domicile of one of my son's.

"A Child's Garden Of Verses," by Robert Louis Stevenson, the very book that was in my hands from the time I learned that there were things in it that I wanted to hear over and over, until the time I could read the book for myself -- it also has been passed down to grandchildren along with its history.

Some mementos become even more precious in passing from one to another along with the recounting of the history of the piece. Sometimes leading one of our children to ask even more questions about Heather and I or our parents or our other relatives who have also crossed over.

They also live through the things left behind -- mementos.

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