My mother always had her secrets. I found a few recently as I emptied boxes from her final rented storage space. Yes, as I wrote a few weeks ago, I’m still slogging away.
I tackled the biggest job first: digging through photo album after photo album filled with strangers – to me. The mega-dozens of her white-haired playmates were group-posed in front of Lake Louise, or Waikiki Beach, or the passion play at Oberammergau, Germany. My mother got around. And because wanderlust was her middle name, many dozens, maybe even hundreds, of her senior citizen friends traveled the country and the world with her. She was the tour organizer and the day-to-day chronicler with her Instamatic camera. She probably packed a suitcase full of those little disposable Kodaks.
I want these bulky, heavy boxes out of my front hall and dining room. At first, I planned to flip through a few album pages, determine they were all strangers, and pitch whole albums. But as I dug, I kept finding surprise pictures of my children and grandchildren slipped into spare pages. I am also trying to sort odd pictures containing cousins or dear friends. I will send them on as surprise blasts from their past.
The smiling strangers, all preserved in plastic sleeves, are heading for the circular bin. I’m positive all of those folks are gone because my mom was one of the youngest of that big bunch, and she died at 98. Eight years ago. Someone suggested I donate this massive collection to the Senior Citizens of Duxbury, Massachusetts the group Mom led for more than a decade. At first the preservation idea had some appeal – until I did the math. These pics are 40 and 50 years old. No current member would recognize any of these folks.
But then I came across some big manila envelopes and a few ancient small boxes – all filled with photos. From another era. I realized I’d seen some in my childhood, but so many more were new to me. They are all sepia-toned because they predate color film. My baby pictures were mixed in with chubby toddler me in the arms of my uncles. There were pictures of my parent’s early marriage, some of families on both sides, and my early years in school, summer camp, and a few birthday parties. These photos are OLD.
Then I thought, WHAT am I going to do with all these oldies? And the solution was right in front of me. By hanging on to a few of these 3-inch loose-leaf binders being rapidly emptied, I could fill Mom’s sectioned plastic folders with the things I want to preserve. And then I laughed. I’m doing my children a favor by disposing of all these strangers – but – they can do the same for their children when I leave these albums behind. The only difference is bloodline, the family connections. I will have to do some heavy labeling.
I hate to think of it, but I do hope they’ll wait until my cremains have been scattered before they chuck them. My son has declared that when the time comes, he is going to back a dump truck up to the house, fill it, no matter how many trips it takes, and dust off his hands. Slam dunk.
My daughter is more practical. She, at least, will go through the things I have indicated are worth keeping and take what she wants. He is welcome, if he is so inclined.
But wait! There’s more. In amongst the pockets and corners of Mom’s last leavings, I have found small boxes, little velvet bags and Asian silk pouches. More secrets. I grumbled about all the costume jewelry which I donated to fund-raising charities. But there were some
definite surprises from her secret hoarder’s cache. I held a handful of pearls – single strands, double strands, all real. Mom taught me how to tell the difference. Then there was the little bank envelope stuffed with 39 $2 bills. I guess I have some serious sleuthing to do. There could be more.
After my book was printed last November, it took a long time to return my dining room from Publishing 101 to normalcy. Luckily, it was a quiet Christmas. This Christmas, however, is going to be a noisy full house and my dining room has now become Recently Closed Storage Unit 101. I have to make serious progress – soon.
But honestly, if each nook and cranny continues to yield surprises like I’m finding, it’s a many-faceted treasure hunt. Heart tugging nostalgia slows my progress, but it has also become the thrill of the chase. Surprises and secrets. Secret surprises. Any way I look at this mess, though sometimes overwhelming, there are still smiles attached. Thanks for the fun, Mom.
Marcy O’Brien writes from Warren.