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Nostalgia October 2015

Laverne's View

Clinging to the Past

By Laverne Bardy

I relived the milestones associated with old greeting cards, caressed the yellowing photographs and possessions of departed loved ones and savored treasured mementos of my children’s youth. Those items would be meaningless to anyone else, but to me each one summoned a spectrum of incredible feelings.

I have always found it difficult to throw things away; and over the years the death of loved ones has intensified my need to embrace objects from my past.

I’ve made countless attempts to throw away cartons of keepsakes, but this time I was determined. The plan was for me to toss what I didn’t need, organize, pack and store what I wanted, give some to my children, donate some to charity and have a yard sale with the rest. Period.

As I sat cross‑legged on the floor examining the overflowing contents of cartons, I was lost in a time warp. The hardwood floor was my canvas, I was the artist, and the assorted articles encircling me in varied sizes, colors, shapes and textures, were the medium chosen to portray my life.

I found my grandmother’s irreplaceable recipes and as I clutched them to my breast and closed my eyes I could taste her mouth-watering knishes, kugel and blintzes. As a youngster, in the early 50s, I had followed her around her basement kitchen noting each ingredient she used to magically create her delicacies and I tried to figure out the measuring equivalents as she skillfully tossed handfuls and pinches of various seasonings.

I relived the milestones associated with old greeting cards, caressed the yellowing photographs and possessions of departed loved ones and savored treasured mementos of my children’s youth. Those items would be meaningless to anyone else, but to me each one summoned a spectrum of incredible feelings.

How could I give up my dear late brother’s matchbooks and hotel keys collected from his many trips around the world; his notebooks filled with stories of presidents and beggars he’d befriended, and his poetry that gave insight into his soul?

Could I part with his pillow that I still press to my face in search of his familiar scent; or his Rolodex, tightly crammed with his lifetime of relationships?

And what about my father’s collection of first edition postcards? He had been the first letter carrier in our small town back in the early 40s, and had proudly displayed the shiny number “1" on his cap like a badge of honor. I recall his stories about mail deliveries he’d made on foot, in snow storms, and the friendly homeowners who greeted him with coffee and hot chocolate. His ready smile, charisma and compassion had made him a legend in the small farming town of Union, New Jersey. Could I hand his prized postcards to a collector for mere monetary reward?

Could I throw away my mother’s treadle sewing machine that had been passed down from her mother? She made all of our clothes on it. One year my brother and I proudly presented her with a modern Singer, with a zillion attachments. She was embarrassed that she couldn’t get the hang of it and continued using her old machine in secret.

My mother was a beautiful, elegant woman, who delighted in dressing up. She had countless pairs of gloves, in supple leather, decorative lace and soft cotton, in every length and color. Could I sell them to a stranger at a garage sale, whose only interest was in the attached price tag she was pressing to have lowered?

Where should I put my children’s primitive drawings and handcrafted creations, given to me with love and pride so long ago?

My home has never been just a place to eat and sleep. It is my sanctuary. It reflects and encompasses my life. My past and my present co‑exist in the form of porcelain and crystal animal collections, books, pottery, Western and Indian dolls, family collages and artwork. Photographs and other tangible evidence of my family’s existence cover every surface.

I derive great pleasure from living in the moment, but I find equal merit in preserving yesterday. I think it’s time that I come to terms with the fact that I am too emotionally involved to objectively sort through these boxes with a goal of throwing things away. Maybe it’s a job best left for my children to do when I’m gone. But, I hope that in their goal of neatness and organization they don’t miss out on experiencing the wonderful surge of emotions that come with sifting through one’s history. Hopefully they will be fortified with memories and disclosures, just as I am each time I find myself sitting on the floor surrounded by pieces of my past, in yet another failed attempt at throwing away what my closets don’t need but my insatiable spirit covets.

 

Laverne's book, "How The (Bleep) Did I Get This Old?" is available at amazon.com and other online bookstores. Website: www.lavernebardy.com - E-mail her at: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

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