Chest of Memories

 

Memorabilia, objects of sentimental value, shards of our past, the remnants of diverse experiences that have been collected along the road of life, make up the contents of the chest, and are an endless infinitely varied collection of objects that are very personally meaningful to the individual.A simple rock may signify an accomplishment to the person such as  the rounded white oval piece of quartz that I am staring at now, which I picked up in front of the Montauk Light House on completion of my first bike ride there from Queens. Or the Tops Babe Ruth baseball card only saved from the garbage, and my mother’s wrath for not cleaning my room, because it had been given a neat place of prominence on my bureau. I uncover an art award received at high school graduation which received curious looks and raised eyebrows from my “artsy” fellow graduates, an award that was sacrilege to bestow on one of the “jocks”, those muscle bound Neanderthals whom had somehow been admitted to the school, probably slipping in through the back door. Fellow athletes were not too happy with this honor either, since it did not fit into their mold. All these objects thrown into a chest, drawer, shoe box or bag miscellaneously piled up like stratigraphic levels in an archaeological dig, piling up through time to one day be rediscovered and excavated meticulously while memories stream back into consciousness on an emotional, visual ride of remembrance. I think that my kindergarten paintings, or as I prefer to call them, “The Early Works,” may have been lost to the ages as I have not found them yet, possibly crumbling into dust, a symbol of the eventuality that I myself will succumb to one day. The bill of sale wherein my father signed away the family car to me as a gift when he could no longer drive it safely. Souvenirs of various family trips. A plastic Sinclair dinosaur from the 1964 World’s Fair in Flushing Meadows Park. A buffalo statue with short chocolate brown fuzzy fur brought back from a business trip to Oklahoma, for me by my father.

Greeting Cards too numerous to mention, on every sort of occasion, milestones on the road of life are piled together in rubber bands now corroded and lacking elasticity, each with its own significance.  Photographs too numerous to mention, that somehow never made it into an album are stuffed in envelopes in the chest sticking together for support to overcome their feelings of rejection while stuck together due to physical proximity. Old stamps and coins stare blindly out of the chest , portrait eyes blinking, adjusting to the sudden light and coughing at the inhalation of fresh air. Keys whose purpose is long forgotten to open extinct locks sit waiting to serve, while miscellaneous objects whose original purpose or significance is long forgotten await inspection.

It is time to go now and the chest is carefully repacked and closed, till next time.

 

Jim

Aug 2021