Skip to main content

Swept Away



A new book out about compulsive hoarding called Stuff has me thinking about that age old question: If you had only five minutes to go through your house and keep just a few things, what would you keep?
In my downsizing over the last couple of years I've been dealing with letting go more than ever. It is easier to say good-bye to anything easily replaceable. Books, records/CDs, even clothing fits that category. I've parted with file cabinets of teaching materials and even a few "treasures" that I still have second thoughts about. But in the end, it is all just stuff.
It is also a way we define ourselves. Who am I now that I don't own? _________ (fill in the blank) Like most people, I would save photographs first. But what happens to them when we no longer own them? If we don't pass them on to immediate family what becomes of these documents?
Fortunately there are people who love the mystery of a good photograph. I see the bits and pieces of lives gone by in antique stores, flea-markets, garage sales, and even adorning a gifted artist's collage work. One of my favorite Portland rainy day activities is to touch base with some of my families old photo albums and scrap books. I've become the keeper of most of it. It's either my sister or me, and being the historian in the family, I've kept most of these things including a minor array of old photographs. Most of the trucks or suitcases my parents brought with them from NY to California in the late 1940s have moved on, so I have the keepable in storage bins, acid free boxes or clear plastic tubs.
That's when I found the photo shown here. My parents and my father's cousin (I think) are spending a day in the country sometime in the 1920s. That's my mom and dad messing around in the foreground. They are so young and strikingly carefree. This little scene depicts part of the "swept me off my feet" process that my mom always told me about. But there is an innocence here too. They were not alone. She was no doubt permitted to go because his cousin accompanied them. Someone else was there too. Someone who took that picture. Perhaps another woman; probably the cousin's girlfriend.
What intrigues me most is the boxing stance my mom is taking. Was my father messing with her? What prompted this friendly gesture of self-defense? I love how her smile, frozen in time, reveals she's able to take care of herself. I'm sure they had a lovely day. Their wedding was a few years away and right in the middle of The Great Depression. Big historical events guided their first decade together until a swipe at the American Dream in the San Fernando Valley became their post war focus. But on this day, so much is unknown...except, of course, what prompted this picture in this place on that day.

Comments

Biff Barnes said…
You are fortunate to have your family photos and to know the stories they represent. As an editor editor, I work with a lot of people creating memoir and family history books. One problem they often confront is that although they have inherited the family photo collection or albums, the stories behind those photos, and even the identities of the people in them, have been lost. Once that happens it's time to consign them to "antique stores, flea=markets, garage sales, and even an artist's collage work." This loss of the narrative of our family's experience, our heritage, is tragic.

Popular posts from this blog

To a Tee

 I'm a sucker for a good t-shirt.  They are the foundational garment of my life.  My day starts with selecting a t-shirt and it ends with sleeping in one.  Once thought of as under garments, t-shirts are now original art and no doubt, a billion dollar business.   You can get a t-shirt with anybody's picture displayed.  You can commemorate an event, a birthday, a death, even a specular play in any sport.  Family reunions usually have a commemorative t-shirt.  Also, any organization that solicits your support in the form of a donation is likely to offer you a t-shirt. Where once I only had the basic white t-shirt, my drawers are filled with all manner of colorful choices.  Some recognize major events in my life, some, spectacular performances or plays I have witnessed, and some unforgettable places I have been.   I say I'm a sucker for a good t-shirt because I have taken the bait on what I perceived as a must-have only to be disappointed. ...

Illusory

What does it take to enrage you?  That moment when your words fly on pure emotion because enough is enough.  Is it a driver that cuts you off at high speed?  What about being an eyewitness to blatant racism or on the receiving end of some obvious injustice? I know some people who never express rage.  I admire them but know full well I am not capable of such distance from that which would bring about such a strong response. Another senseless shooting and 7 people die at the hands of a mentally ill gun owner.  The father of the 20 year old college student lets it fly and somehow millions feel a new sense of relief.  He calls the politicians bastards who do nothing, he wears his pain in public.  The news media responds but we all know that nothing is going to change.  We are the gun country.  We are the place where anybody, anytime, can be cut down just for being there when somebody else snaps. Usually the perpetrators are delusional. ...

Mr. Greene v. Mr. Brown

I want to tell you about something. Something I've carried inside myself for a number of years now. Perhaps if I were a different kind of person I wouldn't need to talk about it. I'm not. My need to tell it is stronger than your need to hear it. Because, however, there are a number of teachers and former students of mine who may read these meanderings from time to time, I need to tell this story all the more. About 7 or 8 years ago I was asked if I would allow a university PhD. candidate to observe an English class. At first I decided against it because I was scheduled to have a student teacher placed with me the second half of the semester in question. After some urging, however, at the request of a respected colleague, I agreed. Soon I was committing to extra meetings, signing documents and explaining to the class in question who the young woman who thoughtfully pounded away on a laptop in the rear of the classroom three times a week was. I knew that the topic of ...