I'm certain I have written about this in the past, I just can't remember when. Seems like I included a photo as well. Well, I'm guessing if I can't remember, you won't either. I woke up, got my morning coffee and saw a familiar object once again. This object is a scene in a bottle. That is the only way I can think to describe it. It isn't a ship and the bottle stands upright. Contained in that scene is a ladder, a lighthouse, a windmill, three sailing ships and a pine tree. I'd say it was quite the eclectic collection of objects. Now each object could be said to relate to East Hampton, the town were I was born and my father before me. We certainly have all those things as part of our heritage. I do wonder why the ladder though? Well whatever the reason and thinking was it was gift to my father when he was ten years old. I know that because it is dated " 1934 " and Dad told me it was a gift from a neighbor. That man was Mr. Charlie. That is what I called him and I knew him as a friend to my great grandfather Floyd Lester. Mr. Charlie lived on Floyd street. Charles Miller was his name. I only remember an old man with a white mustache, wearing suspenders and smoking a pipe. That memory is there and I'm not certain of its' origin. Do I really remember that, or is it because I have a small picture of Mr. Charlie sitting with my great grandfather, relaxing in the yard. Memories are funny things sometimes. Sometimes created in the first person, and others created by time alone. How much do we remember? But I believe I remember Mr. Charlie.
Now this scene in a bottle was given to me by my mother, after my fathers passing. That Dad valued it highly was obvious as he did keep it with him his entire life. I remember well it sitting on the shelf by the fireplace. You didn't take it down and play with it. It was one of those things you just didn't touch. It was like Dads rifle, you knew where it was, what it was and you didn't touch it! He had it for 56 years. Strange how that doesn't seem like such a long time, but it was only ten years shy of his whole lifetime. Next year I will reach 66, same age as Dad when he left us. I have already held that bottle for 28 years! That is half again as many as he had it. Amazing when thought about in those terms. The bottle itself? Eight four years old.
When I see this bottle, this memento, this gift from the past I can't but think about it all. Dad was ten years old and an orphan. His mother died a few days after his birth and his father in 1932. He was being raised by his maternal grandparents. It must have been confusing His father had remarried and had two more sons. They lived with him and their mother Lina. Why Dad and his older brother never went to live with them is still a question unanswered. There is just so much history, and mystery contained in that bottle. So many stories " bottled " up. I do wonder just what was said of the whole situation. Surely there was gossip and speculation. What had Dad heard when adults didn't think he could hear? You know how that is. I'm certain as a child you heard " adults " talking about things you weren't supposed to hear, or know about. In the 1930's that list of topics was far more extensive than what it is today. I'm sure it was scandalous.
Along with that bottle there are two " relish " jars. That is what I was told they originally contained. These two small matching jars are also filled with little scenes. They were once joined by a strip of wood that held a fixture for a light. I remember seeing it that way when I was young, it sat on Dads' desk. At sometime the lamp part was disassembled by my father. I guess it was he anyway, I can't imagine anyone else daring to touch it. Anyway I have those as well and I can only assume they are equally as old, although they are not dated. That Mr. Charlie made them I have no doubts. Dad said he used that light while doing his schoolwork. What books he may have read, what lessons he learned under that light I can't know. My sister has the desk though, perhaps one day that light should be reunited with it.
I feel a certain responsibilty for these things. They have been placed in my care and custody. I write and speak of these things often, not just these things, but of all my things. It is an attempt to infuse them with life, with meaning. With neither of those qualities they just become old stuff. Stuff subject to neglect and abuse. Stuff to be discarded. And I am aware that someday, someone will have the power to dispose of my stuff. And yes, it matters to me. I know I can't take it with me but I do want to ensure it has a good home. Maybe that is why my grandfather left his sons with his mother in law, to ensure them a good home. Another piece of history, another mystery unsolved. Me. I keep trying to tell the stories, to keep these things alive. There will be a few mysteries I'll leave behind. I do believe there are things best left between you and your God. I also believe as we age those secrets should become fewer. Ideally our life would be an open book. But, even God doesn't tell us everything.
Now this scene in a bottle was given to me by my mother, after my fathers passing. That Dad valued it highly was obvious as he did keep it with him his entire life. I remember well it sitting on the shelf by the fireplace. You didn't take it down and play with it. It was one of those things you just didn't touch. It was like Dads rifle, you knew where it was, what it was and you didn't touch it! He had it for 56 years. Strange how that doesn't seem like such a long time, but it was only ten years shy of his whole lifetime. Next year I will reach 66, same age as Dad when he left us. I have already held that bottle for 28 years! That is half again as many as he had it. Amazing when thought about in those terms. The bottle itself? Eight four years old.
When I see this bottle, this memento, this gift from the past I can't but think about it all. Dad was ten years old and an orphan. His mother died a few days after his birth and his father in 1932. He was being raised by his maternal grandparents. It must have been confusing His father had remarried and had two more sons. They lived with him and their mother Lina. Why Dad and his older brother never went to live with them is still a question unanswered. There is just so much history, and mystery contained in that bottle. So many stories " bottled " up. I do wonder just what was said of the whole situation. Surely there was gossip and speculation. What had Dad heard when adults didn't think he could hear? You know how that is. I'm certain as a child you heard " adults " talking about things you weren't supposed to hear, or know about. In the 1930's that list of topics was far more extensive than what it is today. I'm sure it was scandalous.
Along with that bottle there are two " relish " jars. That is what I was told they originally contained. These two small matching jars are also filled with little scenes. They were once joined by a strip of wood that held a fixture for a light. I remember seeing it that way when I was young, it sat on Dads' desk. At sometime the lamp part was disassembled by my father. I guess it was he anyway, I can't imagine anyone else daring to touch it. Anyway I have those as well and I can only assume they are equally as old, although they are not dated. That Mr. Charlie made them I have no doubts. Dad said he used that light while doing his schoolwork. What books he may have read, what lessons he learned under that light I can't know. My sister has the desk though, perhaps one day that light should be reunited with it.
I feel a certain responsibilty for these things. They have been placed in my care and custody. I write and speak of these things often, not just these things, but of all my things. It is an attempt to infuse them with life, with meaning. With neither of those qualities they just become old stuff. Stuff subject to neglect and abuse. Stuff to be discarded. And I am aware that someday, someone will have the power to dispose of my stuff. And yes, it matters to me. I know I can't take it with me but I do want to ensure it has a good home. Maybe that is why my grandfather left his sons with his mother in law, to ensure them a good home. Another piece of history, another mystery unsolved. Me. I keep trying to tell the stories, to keep these things alive. There will be a few mysteries I'll leave behind. I do believe there are things best left between you and your God. I also believe as we age those secrets should become fewer. Ideally our life would be an open book. But, even God doesn't tell us everything.
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