TheBanyanTree: Sorting "stuff"

[mg]

The toys became more than their components when they became family
members.  They are the memory of innocent children and innocent parents;
although we didn't think we were---we were just as innocent not knowing what
was ahead.  Like the scent of burning leaves can call up hidden memories of
camp fires and marshmallows, those battered and beaten bits of fur and
plastic raise memories we had forgotten we had until unearthed by ordinary
circumstances. The toys call to mind PB&J on the chin, warm and willing tiny
toes and fingers, giggles over peekaboo and romps around the living room.
Blankets with dirty corners protected in baggies instantly transport me to
the rocker in the wee hours; no sound in the deep dark of night save the
tiny breaths I'd have traded my own for without a second thought.

The bags in the attic, more the attic of my memory now but saved they are,
contain a He-Man sweatshirt worn daily and books with smudged pages and
echoes of read more! read more! between each one.  Artwork labored over with
tongue out and an enviable concentration and dedication to spray painted
macaroni have their own special box saved for each child.

These were the days of my life once upon a life ago, their memory made more
precious for the status of ordinary at the time.  I treasure those echos and
thank God for the opportunity to have had them, to relive them and for the
foresight to have saved their worldly representatives.

Maria


On 9/7/08, Gloria <burns.gloria at gmail.com> wrote:
>
> Monique's story reminded me of hubby Al & I in the garage last
> weekend.  He wanted to clear some "stuff" out of the rafters.  The
> first box held blocks, plastic tools and a pounding bench, a barn
> complete with farm animals, and many other little toys that were the
> focus of many playtime moments.  The first bag of stuff turned out to
> be our two kids' stuffed animals and dolls.
>
> Some of the animals had been visited by chipmunks looking for bedding
> material and had the holes to prove it.  The musical Velveteen Rabbit
> looked like the rabbit in the story.  Tattered, chewed, music
> silenced.  It's because of the story that I couldn't let him go.
> There's also a soft dog, dressed in silky camoflauge material, a faux
> leather vest, and goggles.  These animals were our son Todd's
> companions.  He can let them go, but I can't, not yet.  As happens so
> often with daughters, a large collection of animals and dolls filled
> the rest of the bag.  An Easter rabbit and goofy duck, a doll that
> crawls and one that can be written upon and washed off.  Another doll,
> well worn and crazily clad, couldn't raise a memory one from me.  It's
> very similar to my first doll, which I still have.  I let that one go,
> but now I wonder if that isn't the one I should've kept.  Other dolls
> and animals were moved to the "toss" pile.  It was then that we found
> "Patty Play Pal".  A large beautiful doll with a soft body and bright
> eyes that continue to see.  The long blonde hair that was gorgeous at
> one time has become a rat's nest, though the rat hasn't found it yet.
> Al placed it in the toss pile without a second thought.  I couldn't
> handle that!  This precious doll was also our family's daughter and
> sister for about 3 years!  She graced our table, rode in grocery
> carts, enjoyed visits to the park, swinging on swings and sliding down
> slides.  She went to Grandma's, and well,  everywhere we went, Patty
> went too, buckled in, boosted up, whatever it took to keep her happy.
> When she first arrived at our home on a Christmas morning, she spoke!
> Not only did she speak her mind, she responded to questions.  Oh yes,
> she was no ordinary doll.  This was a little sister to a very little
> girl.  It didn't matter that the little girl had to carry the bigger
> little sister.  Kristi took great pleasure  in making sure Patty was
> well taken care of.   Her dreams for a sister had come true.
>
> I don't know whether Patty went to the curb with the others in the
> toss pile.  I walked away from the whole experience, upset and
> wondering why I have such an attachment to the childhood toys of my
> children.  They aren't just toys, I reason.  They are reminders of
> times gone by, of a small family and the good times they shared.  Yes,
> I also played with those toys.  In fact, the four of us played with
> those toys.   Many imagined scenarios were shared while rolling the
> cars, trucks, and tractors.  We moved animals and people from place to
> place and dreamt up the stories to go with them.   There are no
> pictures of those ordinary days coming one after the other.  Perhaps I
> need the tangible proof that those wonderful times did indeed happen.
> I treasure the memories of those moments outside of celebrations,
> holidays, homework, tending to chores, and the general passing of time
> that didn't happen in a relaxed and playful manner.  For now, there
> are toys to keep and memories to treasure.
>
> Gloria aka Dreamer...always dreamin' of a kinder, gentler world for ALL
>