Memories Come Flooding Back, Reminding You of Where You’re From

Memories really are roses in the winter. 

I read one of my favourite bloggers, John P. Weiss, yesterday. It was on the value of keeping small mementos that bring memories to you.

He is a painter, a cartoonist, and a writer. John weaves stories of his family life, past working life, and current life. He took early retirement to focus on his writing and painting.

I love his simple observations of the people around him. Yesterday would have been his father’s 101st birthday. He was going through a box of mementos that belonged to his father.

These things would likely mean nothing to anyone else but brought beautiful memories to John.

He was fortunate to be raised in a loving home, and these little things, like a fountain pen, brought so many memories and good feelings about his father.

I, too, was raised by loving parents. Were they perfect? Of course not, but I always felt loved. When I was a teen, I knew I would be a much better parent because, of course, I knew so much more. Even then, I knew how much my parents loved me.

Both my parents are gone now. My dad died in 1991, and my mum died in 2013. They did not have much money, but what they had was spent on providing their children a home, opportunities, and education. Family was everything to them. My parents did not just tell us how important family was; they demonstrated it.

In our family, the four kids were born two years apart. We all got married within eight years. Once we were married, my dad seemed to relax and feel his job was done.

One of the things I remember best is the dinners we had at Mum and Dad’s place once we were all married. The grandchildren always sat next to Mum and Dad. We gathered at Easter and Thanksgiving. My dad would always give the toast, saying how important family was. He never made it through without choking up.

These gatherings were when we would announce that one of us was pregnant. After a few years, if someone looked at you, you’d say, “Don’t look at me; I’m not pregnant.” I think these gatherings were the happiest times for my parents.

I have my box of things from my dad. He had a few superstitions. My dad owned a barbershop, and I was the one who got to clean the shop with my mum and dad. My job was to clean the shelves between the barbers.

It was a four-chair shop, and each barber would put their things on the shelves. Not just supplies but small pictures or knickknacks. My dad had a few, and having them in the same place was important—the exact same spot.

I am so not an exact person, but somehow, I knew how important this was to my dad and figured out a way to be sure everything was in the same place after cleaning.

My dad had a marble on the shelf if he didn’t have it in his pocket. Always. I have the marble, and it means a lot to me. Whenever I take it out of the box, I remember the Sundays we cleaned together.

While my dad drove us to the shop and supervised, my mum and I cleaned. I loved this time. With four kids, there wasn’t much one-on-one time for each of us, especially for the middle daughter.

My mum had a small box of old fashion handkerchiefs. Most were embroidered and were very common when my mum was younger. They are beautiful in their simplicity. I usually have one tucked into a purse when I go out. Rarely do I use them. I like to have it with me.

The author and columnist George Will once wrote that memories are roses in the winter. This is so true. I find things that belonged to Mum and am instantly transported back to when she was in our lives. I am not sad, just comforted.

Pictures are things that I can lose hours just going through them. They are, however, hours well spent. Over the last six years, I have been decluttering my home. I have done a pretty good job, but the one thing that I can’t seem to get started on is the photos.

Something about holding a picture in your hand is so emotional. Computerized pictures just don’t cut it. I haven’t started decluttering the photos because I know how long this will take.

I could start with just one bunch, complete going through them, put them aside, and do the next.

I will need to put them in the old-fashioned photo albums and have the ones that mean so much to me in the living room where they can be easily accessed.

They will be my roses in the winter.

What do you have that are your roses in the winter? Let me know.