Sunday, March 2, 2014

Family archives

It's not raining. Cricket is on. The weekend is disappearing fast. For movie night, Wanna was allowed to watch Alvin and the Chipmucks to which she is devotedly attached. RoRo (and Dad until he found the story line even too thin for him to bear) watched The Croods which the rest of us had already viewed last weekend while they were at a Brumbies' game.  I pottered.

I spruced up my mothers old broach, earring and handkerchief collection.  Tidied up my side of the wardrobe and tossed a few discards to Wanna as play clothes. RoRo rejected my fathers old maroon polka dot shaving coat which is strangely the only piece of clothing of his I possess.  So I folded it back in the drawer and thought about the possessions of mine that the children might hold onto after I've gone. What sort of ancestral thread will my things weave? I couldn't actually think of anything that is uniquely mine, burdened as I am with all my own parent's, great aunt's, grandparent's and sundry others' stuff like pottery, photographs, china cups and music boxes.  There are things I remember that I wish we'd kept. Some fabulous clothes which would be classed as vintage. Some of my old toys and books. Pieces of welded metal outdoor furniture made by my grandfather. Still with what remains, I seem to have become the family archivist for the two strands of my lineage. One of the advantages and disadvantages of being an only child.


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