in the midst of my sorting and sifting and dispersal of excess "stuff," I was given two boxes of scrapbooks that my Grandmother made.
she was old when I knew her. the scrapbooks give me a glimpse into who she was beyond my childhood memories.
some of the earliest scrapbooks are picture books, some of which I remember. they contain pictures of flowers and birds and animals cut from magazines, greeting cards and calendars. some are embossed. no words, just pictures.
a later scrapbook includes magazine pictures of floral arrangements, newspaper clippings, and photos of her own flowers. more than anything, these scrapbooiks reveal her passion, her joy.
my grandmother lived in a small world - family, home, neighbors and friends. after my grandfather died, my grandmother (and I only realize this now because of the scrapbooks) spread her wings and looked for a broader sky. she learned to drive! she joined bus tours! from a town counting slightly over 400 souls in the corner of northwest Missouri, she saw the Black Hills! Florida! HAWAII !
the first of the travel books contain photos of car trips with a friend or two to local historical spots, scenic places, or cultural events. the bus tours show groups of friends and traveling companions. but she went to Hawaii BY HERSELF! the last albums contain pictures of smiling strangers taken against exotic backgrounds, and notes and greeting cards from these smiling strangers, momentos and numerous pictures and postcards of the places she saw.
she enjoyed the flowers, the trips, and the people she met. she enjoyed them again when she made the scrapbooks, and again and yet again when she turned the pages.
I would have desribed my grandmother as introverted, extremely private, and rather rigidly disciplined. the photos in the travel scrapbooks show a happy extyrovert on a grand adventure. I smile.
*****
now, back to the first line, "in the midst of my sorting and sifting and dispersal of "stuff"......scrapbooks."
I cannot keep these things. nor can I give them to my daughters, one of whom has everything she ever owned and back-ups for most of it, or to the other, who believes if something hasn't been used in the last three weeks, it should be passed on. Nor can I throw them away.
the boxes remained untouched in the middle of the floor for about a week. what to do? what to do?
this morning I lined the fire-pit with pinecones and opened each of the scrapbooks and layered them with more pine cones. I lit the fire. I return her memories to her on the wind.
I am sad. I am happy. life is short, but life is good. I watch the fire burn as I write.
I will spread my wings.
I will buy a scrapbook.