My parents have lived in the same house for almost 50 years. I can’t remember the last time a car actually fit in their garage. Recently they decided to clean out the garage (Which is a totally good thing, because if they hadn’t I would have just set it on fire after they died). (Not that I want them to die.) (And not that I enjoy setting fires, it’s just that there is A LOT of what I am sure is useless crap in there). But I digress.
My mother has started bringing to my house boxes of items from the garage that she thinks I might want to keep. “Treasures”, if you will. I think she and I have very different ideas of what constitutes a treasure. For instance, the first box she brought over contained nothing but newspapers from the 1984 Olympics, which were held here in Southern California. Granted, I was in the Opening Ceremonies of those Olympics (along with thousands of other local high school students). I wore a frilly dress and a ridiculous hat, and released doves from cages on the floor of the LA Coliseum. But these newspapers contain no mention of my brilliant work. (No one can open a cage with the same dramatic flourish that I employed.) No, these newspapers are all about the different events which took place. Events that I neither competed in nor attended.
The next box contained the aforementioned lavender tiered frilly dress and ridiculous floppy lavender Kentucky Derby hat, along with the weird rubber (yes, rubber) pumps we wore. Perhaps an early version of the Croc?
But this week’s boxes are my favorite. I should have known by how eager she was to get them to me, even volunteering to drive them the 30 minutes to my house. I tried to dissuade her by warning her of the rampant flu in my house, but she said she’d be happy to drop them on the porch and then drive the 30 minutes back home. What treasures could these be?
I finally got to opening the boxes today. The first box contained a large pile of photos, 3 slide trays (ask your grandma if you don’t know what those are), some photo envelopes and a bag. I got excited thinking I might be getting some old photos from my childhood, since I don’t have very many. I grabbed the pile and settled down on the couch, only to find myself thumbing through hundreds of pictures of a trip to Europe my mother took with a friend in the early 80’s. And not just any pictures – SCENERY pictures. Taken from the window of a bus. At high speed. Many from behind someone’s head.
So I moved on to the envelopes. No pictures there – just the negatives of the pictures I had just looked at. I opened the bag. It contained….*drumroll*…the empty canisters from the rolls of film used to make the negatives and pictures I just looked at. The empty canisters were even labeled to show me which roll had once resided in each cannister.
My only hope was the slide trays. *sigh* I started pulling out the slides and holding them up to the window, on the off chance… Yeah no. What was on the slides? Yep. The EXACT same pictures I had just seen and also had the negatives to.
Really? This is what you had to drive across town to give me?
Oh wait! There are two more boxes! THOSE boxes MUST contain something more pertinent to me, RIGHT?
Box #2 was full of old 8mm and 16mm film reels. Some with helpful titles such as “Paper Sculpture”, “62A”, “Indio Parade 1963”, and “Water”, and the most specific title of all, “Film”.
One box left. Here’s holding out hope.
Contents of remaining box:
2 old check registers from my Grandmother (who died in 1983)
A telephone directory from the Brea Chamber of Commerce from 1974
A warranty card for a blender
A Christmas card to my Grandmother from the pastor of the church where she worked
5 broken Christmas ornaments
And a doorknob
I can’t wait to see what I get next week!