CFC Blog #138: Picture Books
Though I love the idea of being a minimalist, I always have trouble throwing out things when I sort through old stuff found in my closet, or on my shelves, or in my garage. This is probably because, although I don't think material things can bring significant long-term joy, I also tie things right back to the memories and wonderful times using them. My sister Christina's metaphoric writing reminds me of the many emotions connected to objects from our childhood that our dad brought into our life during simpler times, and left us with to smile back on after he passed. Just like my sister, I was also working in my dad's shed the other day, but I think Christina was able to put these surging feelings into words in a truly beautiful way.
- Amanda
Picture Books
“Come over here I wanna show you somethin.”
I look down at the drain at the base of the shed. “Make sure you sweep the dust away from this drain, and always keep the cover on it or it’ll fill with leaves and then we’ll have another problem.”
I will, Dad.
I sweep the dust away from the drain and continue to sift through his things. So many things. Pieces of track and mini cars and houses to the Lionel train collection. A “for sale by owner” sign with his number still written across the front. A toilet paper roll hung from the ceiling, probably to blow his nose from saw dust or leaf clippings or the smell of house paint. So many extension cords I wonder how far he ever intended to go.
Staring into this shed, I see my childhood in a million pieces.
The sled leaning against the wall is perched by an eight year old me begging Dad to jump on.
The rakes are asking to be taken off their hooks, to help clear the driveway or lift the pulled weeds or pool Autumn into a pile for my sisters and me to play in.
The old plastic North Pole is wondering when it will be lit again. Asking when it will see Santa, the Snowman, the hundreds of lights Dad and I hung each year.
The bucket of oil paint is still laughing at the time I thought my hands would be stained black forever, as drips fell from the wall Dad gave me as canvas in the attic.
Such basic, trivial things. To anyone’s eyes but mine.
In the physical world we tuck away keys to our memories. Adding significance to the seemingly insignificant. A picture book to the stories of our mind.