Let the memory live again...
Life is so funny sometimes. When you least expect it, something pops back into your life after so long, you'd forgotten it ever existed. Sometimes, that thing has so many other things associated with it you get a retro overload. Then there are times that overload gets so big, you act on it and go looking for an item to bring into your life that will help you keep that thing present forever.
Yesterday, Jonathan and I were dancing around to a Wiggles. I had to go into the kitchen for something. While I was in there, I hear this song start that I haven't heard since forever. I was swiftly transported from my kitchen to my grandparent's basement in Pennsylvania. I can see me, my cousin, brother, and usually Aunt Sue sitting there singing the music scrolling over the bar on the player piano. I can still see the red boxes stacked next to the piano. Rows and rows of them! They had everything from the Andrews Sisters belting out their Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy to Glow Worm to the very one that picked my memory...Music Box Dancer.
So many summer days sitting down there playing pool, air hockey, and singing away fill my memories. The amount of Scrabble and Rummy and Checkers games played has to be in the millions. Grandpa always had a can of almonds sitting on the stand next to his recliner. That jar was always empty when we left their home.
Grandma sent me a package about 8 years ago. She used one of her hand towels from the master bathroom as a cushion for the packing. When I opened that box, I could smell the detergent and Grandpa's aftershave. I put that towel in a baggie to keep the smell. It was comforting and familiar.
When I visit now, the must and dust and the occasional hint of some incense Grandpa lit long before linger in the drafty, damp basement. The books are stacked on the shelves, begging to tell their story once again. The pool table and cue rack are long gone. Where the air hockey game once stood now stands tables filled with books and momentos my Grandpa has collected. Sadly, the piano is gone as well. It was sold, along with the music rolls, many years ago...before Chad was in my life.
This is the magnificent thing about memories. Even when the basement stands empty, it is still filled and bursting with life in my mind and in my heart. It's not just the things either. The people are there too. My Grandma can go down those steps in my memories, without fear of falling. She can sit at that piano and play a song so lovely and sweet. She still sings the words to teach them to me. She still has the energy and strength to push the pedals so we can sing along with the player. Aunt Sue and Aunt Nan are still standing behind my dad singing beautifully as we all join in after a big dinner.
In my memory, I still can't get all of the words to Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy to come out of my mouth when they should. However, I can sing I Feel Pretty in a manner nearly worthy of Broadway. I can still see my one armed Grandpa teaching me to play pool and successfully whooping me good in a game of air hockey. My brother and I are still caught in a game of Checkers and my cousin Lori still beats me in a game of Scrabble.
Now I just need a player piano. Anyone have about $10k to spare?
Yesterday, Jonathan and I were dancing around to a Wiggles. I had to go into the kitchen for something. While I was in there, I hear this song start that I haven't heard since forever. I was swiftly transported from my kitchen to my grandparent's basement in Pennsylvania. I can see me, my cousin, brother, and usually Aunt Sue sitting there singing the music scrolling over the bar on the player piano. I can still see the red boxes stacked next to the piano. Rows and rows of them! They had everything from the Andrews Sisters belting out their Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy to Glow Worm to the very one that picked my memory...Music Box Dancer.
So many summer days sitting down there playing pool, air hockey, and singing away fill my memories. The amount of Scrabble and Rummy and Checkers games played has to be in the millions. Grandpa always had a can of almonds sitting on the stand next to his recliner. That jar was always empty when we left their home.
Grandma sent me a package about 8 years ago. She used one of her hand towels from the master bathroom as a cushion for the packing. When I opened that box, I could smell the detergent and Grandpa's aftershave. I put that towel in a baggie to keep the smell. It was comforting and familiar.
When I visit now, the must and dust and the occasional hint of some incense Grandpa lit long before linger in the drafty, damp basement. The books are stacked on the shelves, begging to tell their story once again. The pool table and cue rack are long gone. Where the air hockey game once stood now stands tables filled with books and momentos my Grandpa has collected. Sadly, the piano is gone as well. It was sold, along with the music rolls, many years ago...before Chad was in my life.
This is the magnificent thing about memories. Even when the basement stands empty, it is still filled and bursting with life in my mind and in my heart. It's not just the things either. The people are there too. My Grandma can go down those steps in my memories, without fear of falling. She can sit at that piano and play a song so lovely and sweet. She still sings the words to teach them to me. She still has the energy and strength to push the pedals so we can sing along with the player. Aunt Sue and Aunt Nan are still standing behind my dad singing beautifully as we all join in after a big dinner.
In my memory, I still can't get all of the words to Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy to come out of my mouth when they should. However, I can sing I Feel Pretty in a manner nearly worthy of Broadway. I can still see my one armed Grandpa teaching me to play pool and successfully whooping me good in a game of air hockey. My brother and I are still caught in a game of Checkers and my cousin Lori still beats me in a game of Scrabble.
Now I just need a player piano. Anyone have about $10k to spare?