Wednesday, January 17, 2018

The Past

    My parents lived through trauma of the depression, followed by World War Two. They raised four children from the money that my father earned in an automobile factory. Money was saved for each child's education after high school so they did not have to work in the factories as well. As with many of their generation this necessitated a certain frugality that persisted their entire lives. I do remember a momentous occasion when we got a "new" suite of matching furniture, chairs, coffee and end tables, a record player and radio in a cabinet, and the families first colour television in a matching cabinet. New was a big deal, although their nature did reassert itself, when the tv broke down the cabinet was fitted with doors and remained in our lives for years. 

The bathrooms were more typical of the frugality and homemade ethos with which they lived. They would often contain a decorative soap, hand painted with a decoupage image of flowers and legs made form pins and beads, the spare toilet paper roll would sit beneath hand some knitted cap (sadly never a poodle), on the wall maybe a reproduction of some well known painting picked up a A&P for buying a certain number of groceries and sometimes a hooked rug made by my mother. As an adult (and long since moved away), I gave my mother a crude pottery bowl I had made, it appeared in the bathroom with hold extra soaps etc. 

So recently when I wanted something to hold the toilet brush, I went not to the store but to the basement. I know they would approve. 

Please note: This can was selected because of the size. We have Scotland on our want to visit travel list.

So Much Unknown

But who shall so forcast the years
and find in loss a gain to match?
Or reach a hand through time to catch
The far-off interest of tears

Alfred Lord Tennyson 1850 In Memorian

Riffling photos so much unknown; 
unasked, the dog’s name, the smell of the park 
the colour of a hat now lost, no eyes to see, 
when so many days lay ahead; but 
the tunnel ends, alone now with cast off bags 
no one spoke, when there is time to hear
your friends name, the make of the car
All orphans to the world suddenly alone
Questions for empty rooms, empty mirrors
but who shall so forcast the years.

A legacy of things holds freight
a story of a first this or that
weddings, service, gifts cold things 
warmed by a breath of life
Held now as your absent hand
For memory, words, stories meaning attach
to the humblest thing, the simplest occasion.
Identity itself is risked in every loss
and life itself will clutch and snatch
and find in loss a gain to match?

Or in gain a loss to hatch
For each day is not a puzzle to unravel
And some nights, peace is best
Every occasion is not greater
Then the sound of dice in your hand
Sometimes from the present we detach 
new memories for old a warm touch for cold.
Like a child with a favourite book reread.
Striving with every moment to stretch
Or reach a hand through time to catch

a moment once wasted now wanted.
It seems that age can only embrace
what comes it’s way regardless.
Each loss, each parting 
each cold alone awakening.
Those unanswerable fears.
change callow youth to miser 
hoarding half remembered days.
Some long delayed reckoning nears
The far-off interest of tears

This version Sept4/05
form Glosa

No comments: