I had plenty of cherished objects to choose from for the subject of this post: A china doll that belonged to my grandmother; a pouting stool painted by my father; an orange bicycle in the garage; jewelry from a friend; a chest of drawers that belonged to a great aunt.
What I eventually chose was this:
My cherished object is not one thing, it’s a collection.
A collection of photos. In plastic, rectangular boxes.
Memories of childhood, parents, trips, cousins, neighbors, weddings, friends, pets, adulthood and holidays. Secured in plastic boxes from a store with a French name. I drag the boxes out on occasion to look through, only to be surprised by a photo I missed the time before.
Then there was the time when I simply looked surprised…or frightened…as a baby.
That’s me (with scary hair), bottom middle, along with big brother and Great Aunt Kate. A lovely mother of two resides in a photo next door, with cousins Rosemary and Don bringing up the left.
Pieces of the collection assist in telling the story of a father who, I imagine, was proud of his children…even the one with the silly white bonnet. Adorable. Whatever happened to her?
Images within a tattered album are of a mother dressed up for Halloween and her daughter, who is sadly NOT dressed up for Halloween.
My father’s mother was a seamstress and she taught him her craft. Dad sewed what I can only describe as a hippie Aztec outfit that might have been popular in the 70’s as long as everyone was smoking wacky tobacco. (I remember loving that outfit, although I don’t remember if I was in my right mind or not.)
More photos from a life’s novel…
Of a cat named Harley and bangs that have not been that short in a very long time. Dig the hair on the side, the sprouting wings that almost allowed me to fly.
The collection, the object(s) that I cherish, are a reflection of many days past and of age and aging. The young girl in the family of 13, becomes a wife, then a mother, and finally a woman of 95. A cousin, Judy, is married to Dave circa 1960. A family of four visits the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago. Two children sit with Santa Claus. A handsome man sports an Army uniform. Distant relatives are unnamed. A few cats ARE named.
There is also the plastic box that contains memories of a woman in black. A biker chick. Her backside traveled many miles and the many H-D scarves and photos became a scrapbook piece de resistance. Those days are gone, but she still has the leather jacket and a black and orange bicycle.
Together, these photos create a highly cherished object. One that I will safeguard and hold close for many years to come.
Powered by Linky Tools
Click here to enter your link and view this Linky Tools list…