collecting memories

  I went searching for something I thought I had, specifically a set of guitar strings. I felt like I knew where they might be and began rummaging through a few drawers, boxes and cabinet shelves. You know how you have stuff just stuck here and there. Stuff you have decided to save, for now, and do something with later on. Those little caches throughout the house similar to the junk drawer in every kitchen in America. Naturally I got distracted discovering these little artifacts of the past. wallet size photographs of the kids, old key chains, scraps of paper with notes on them, things like that. I uncovered a number of things from the grandchildren. Little crafts made in school, a few gifts they had given me and the wife, little sentimental things like that. All of them holding a memory. I didn't find the guitar strings.

 Later on, I began to think about that. The stuff I mean. I thought, at what age do you start collecting your own memories? What I mean is, collecting sentimental objects from your own past? I have never been what I would call a collector of anything, except possibly tools. I don't really count the tools because every tool I have I use or have used. I have no tools just to look at them. To me that's what a collection is, something to look at. Well unless you are Jay Leno then you can collect cars and drive them too. But whatever, I do have stuff from my past that sits on the shelf. Those objects were given to me mostly by my mother. She had saved those things over the years. At times, for no apparent reason, she would send me one of those things saying, I thought you might want to have this. She was right, I am glad today that I have a few of those things, my memories, saved by another and eventually returned to me. That's what I mean about collecting your own memories. 

 A great deal of the memories and attendant mementos from my childhood have been lost to time. Shortly after I joined the Navy my parents sold our home. My bedroom was cleaned out, things discarded that meant nothing to either of them. Posters, a few treasured books, record albums, things like that. When I returned home, it was mostly gone. I had my high school diploma, yearbooks, and a few other things but they too were lost over time. Placed in a storage locker for safe keeping that I shared with another sailor. When he shipped out, he took everything with him, even my stuff! All gone.

 I imagine it is different for each of us. At what age did you start collecting your memories? I'd say I began taking an intertest after the grandchildren were born. I had some things that belonged to my father and mother and began collecting their memories then. Perhaps it was the realization of the passing of a generation that awaken that in me. Now, with possibly a few exceptions, that generation has completely passed. The generation of my parents that I knew personally or am related too. All I have of them are memories today, memories stored in objects like old photographs. 

 I find myself gathering memories these days with a mind to pass them on. That is what I am saving them for isn't it? Isn't that what we all save them for? You sure can't take them with you. The challenge is knowing when to pass them down. I certainly want to them all to be saved, to be cherished and loved as much as I cherish and love them. I want to be sure they will be protected. 

 I have a wooden box where I store a great deal of the paper products, pictures and such, that I call the archives. It is my version of a "hope" chest. I don't know if young ladies have hope chests anymore, those chests where they store the things they will need when they get married. Hope for the future? My "archives" chest is where I store the things I hope will be treasured by the next generation and indeed, generations to come. My mother had a little tin box where she kept important papers. Simply called the box, we children were strictly forbidden from seeing the contents of that box. To this day I have no idea what secrets it may have held. She was living with my brother when she passed, and he gained control of the box. I've never asked about it. My archives are just the opposite of that. I love to show whoever will look what is in my archives.

 It was a bit ironic that later in the day I went to my mailbox and got a letter from my brother. The ironic part is that letter contained some pictures that my mother had saved. These pictures were ones I had given her during my time in the navy. Pictures of Ben in uniform. A memory returned to me. My brother had written no words, no letter per se, just those old photographs coming home. Pictures for the archives. I did remember each one, when and where it was taken. Forgotten almost as soon as they were gifted, now holding memories. When did you start collecting your memories?