What is left of my family’s pictures are contained in a light blue quilted hat box. I have no memories of my mother even wearing a hat that would require a box. A small plastic window on the outside as if someone is going to peek in to see what can be seen without committing to opening the door. Quite appropriate really. The box sat on the top shelf of my mother’s closet , above a collection of outdated dress clothes from days gone by. Like the pictures. My parents never took it down to show us our story.
“…soft in the eyes visible through the screen door…”
“…or in the softness around my brother’s mouth…”
I can continue quoting my favorites,but you know the words. Truthfully the whole piece is simply beautiful . An emotional roller coaster woven through time. Containing an entire legacy of one family’s life and I do believe it has become a part of your legacy to pass to your children. Photos taken, tucked away, archived like a body of work. A museum exhibition from days past.
According to the National Galleries of Art,
“The phrase body of work refers to the production of a single artist,writer,or composer.”
“A permanent collection”can have a span of many years , considered a part of an historical narrative.”
As the caretaker of this collection, you have added your own contribution that will be passed to each generation to come. Passionate, palpable, love.
I know, no comments. I couldn’t help myself. How about you can read my comment , or not. No response necessary.
The house has been ritually cleansed of it’s company . Debussy is performing Clair de lune . And my husband and I sink into soft leather on opposite ends of the couch . He’s reading I don’t know what, and I have just fallen into chapter VIII, The Family Songbook .
Contented, I let out a sigh and so does the house. He looks up in question, and I decide to seize the moment to read him an excerpt I just know he’ll love. He smiles approvingly. I continue on.
“It turns out the Old Mastiffs have life in them. They are throaty and hoarse. Their tired woofers have lost much of their growl, but they wail out in their fashion, can still wake the neighbors, and above all they know the family songbook.”
Now I really have his attention and I’m beginning to regret it.
Let’s just say that by the time I reach the end , he was already heading down the stairs to the bowels of the basement.
He liked your idea so much, the next thing I see from my couch vantage point, two large dust caked speakers walking out the front door on the way to the upstairs workshop in the garage.
Yup , an old set of Vandersteen 1Bs getting ready to join their counterparts , another pair of the same. Exactly what the garage needed.
Within the hour the garage is vibrating like an off balanced washing machine . Rumbling sounds of David Gilmore’s guitar riff playing Comfortably Numb heard throughout the neighborhood.
And in speakers! And in classical music! And in rock!
One of my favorite memories of my kids was one time when the kids were probably 12 and 8 and we turned off all of the lights in the living room except maybe a couple of fake candles and we blasted - and by blasted I mean blasted - Pink Floyd's In the Flesh and tromped around the living room like dinosaurs in the dark.
What a fun story. I'm glad to be a part of it. I'm guessing I have a lot of albums in common with the two of you. I do not have a garage anymore, however, because I live in New York. And I do not have speakers worth %^& because I live in NYC and they'd throw me out if I played at appropriate volumes. The best part of leaving the city someday will be shaking the garage with volume.
They love it. My son and I on the rock side. My daughter and I with R&B, outlaw country, soul, French pop, American pop, some classical. For example my daughter and I keep a shared playlist of songs we love in 6/8. Apples very near tree. 🍎 🌳
(The Disney Log Flume)
What is left of my family’s pictures are contained in a light blue quilted hat box. I have no memories of my mother even wearing a hat that would require a box. A small plastic window on the outside as if someone is going to peek in to see what can be seen without committing to opening the door. Quite appropriate really. The box sat on the top shelf of my mother’s closet , above a collection of outdated dress clothes from days gone by. Like the pictures. My parents never took it down to show us our story.
“…soft in the eyes visible through the screen door…”
“…or in the softness around my brother’s mouth…”
I can continue quoting my favorites,but you know the words. Truthfully the whole piece is simply beautiful . An emotional roller coaster woven through time. Containing an entire legacy of one family’s life and I do believe it has become a part of your legacy to pass to your children. Photos taken, tucked away, archived like a body of work. A museum exhibition from days past.
According to the National Galleries of Art,
“The phrase body of work refers to the production of a single artist,writer,or composer.”
“A permanent collection”can have a span of many years , considered a part of an historical narrative.”
As the caretaker of this collection, you have added your own contribution that will be passed to each generation to come. Passionate, palpable, love.
I know, no comments. I couldn’t help myself. How about you can read my comment , or not. No response necessary.
This is beautiful. I don’t know how I missed responding to it. Thank you for sharing this.
Ah, just one of the wonderful things about living in Vt !
I was in Jamaica, Vermont all of last week!
It’s the day after Christmas.
The house has been ritually cleansed of it’s company . Debussy is performing Clair de lune . And my husband and I sink into soft leather on opposite ends of the couch . He’s reading I don’t know what, and I have just fallen into chapter VIII, The Family Songbook .
Contented, I let out a sigh and so does the house. He looks up in question, and I decide to seize the moment to read him an excerpt I just know he’ll love. He smiles approvingly. I continue on.
“It turns out the Old Mastiffs have life in them. They are throaty and hoarse. Their tired woofers have lost much of their growl, but they wail out in their fashion, can still wake the neighbors, and above all they know the family songbook.”
Now I really have his attention and I’m beginning to regret it.
Let’s just say that by the time I reach the end , he was already heading down the stairs to the bowels of the basement.
He liked your idea so much, the next thing I see from my couch vantage point, two large dust caked speakers walking out the front door on the way to the upstairs workshop in the garage.
Yup , an old set of Vandersteen 1Bs getting ready to join their counterparts , another pair of the same. Exactly what the garage needed.
Within the hour the garage is vibrating like an off balanced washing machine . Rumbling sounds of David Gilmore’s guitar riff playing Comfortably Numb heard throughout the neighborhood.
And believe it or not, I’m smiling too.
He agrees.
I have excellent taste in authors.
And in speakers! And in classical music! And in rock!
One of my favorite memories of my kids was one time when the kids were probably 12 and 8 and we turned off all of the lights in the living room except maybe a couple of fake candles and we blasted - and by blasted I mean blasted - Pink Floyd's In the Flesh and tromped around the living room like dinosaurs in the dark.
What a fun story. I'm glad to be a part of it. I'm guessing I have a lot of albums in common with the two of you. I do not have a garage anymore, however, because I live in New York. And I do not have speakers worth %^& because I live in NYC and they'd throw me out if I played at appropriate volumes. The best part of leaving the city someday will be shaking the garage with volume.
Thanks for the great note.
I also want to know if you ultimately turned your kids on to great music?
Or did they turn away from it.
They love it. My son and I on the rock side. My daughter and I with R&B, outlaw country, soul, French pop, American pop, some classical. For example my daughter and I keep a shared playlist of songs we love in 6/8. Apples very near tree. 🍎 🌳
Great Dad!
I realized you probably don’t own a vehicle in NYC.
I was feeling sorry for you and wondered if you could sit in you car and turn up the volume
Adam. Archeologist. Pilgrim. Poet. Wonder-filled boy. This is stunning. Thank you 🙏
❤️
Oh Adam, you have brought me to tears once again! Your Mother loved that house, and it will always be only the Westgate to our family.
I simply loved waking up to this, and thank you for feeding my many wonderful memories of being in Maine with your Mom in her beautiful house.
Mary Lou