Old Worlds
I think I have a neat and tidy life. Everything well ordered. Everything in its place. Then I clean a closet and mysteries unfold and worlds come unlocked. There’s a box full of small dolls my wife collected, featuring a geisha under glass that I bought in Tokyo. The Wilson family bible once again sees the light of day, a book most liked printed in the 30s, a compendium of births and deaths. A program for the first game ever played in the Astrodome in 1965 sits in its protective envelope.
In a flash the past eats the present and I want to touch all of these things and remember all of those people. There’s a box full of my fathers instructions for things to do upon his death that changed over time with new wives and new lives. I have no idea why I still have them, but I do, and I doubt I dispose of them. There are birth announcements for my brothers, one of whom is now deceased. And there are ancient video tapes of Star Wars and Disney films for the kids.
We were keepers of things, my wife and I. We liked mementos. Tips of lines that stretched back into the past. Lines that could be pulled to bring forth memories. It’s why I have cluttered shelves and tables with glass balls as I explained earlier. I’d say it’s my new role in life, the librarian of memories, but I’ve always done it. I liked having things touched by people I loved. Because if you’re going to remember anything it might as well be love.