Paper treasures

Last week I went to mom and dad's house to retrieve an old wicker toy chest that I used as a kid. It's going to make both Will and me happy at Wooden Road: Will has a large box to rummage through, which is his favorite activity these days, and I have an easy place to store his toys so that my house can still, at times, appear as if the adults rule this roost.

We intended the pick-up to be quick, but when we got to dad's and I lifted the lid, I had forgotten that all of my toys were still inside. I must say, I'm quite proud of myself. Even as nostalgic as I am (and have recently become), most things landed in the big trash box that Dad brought over while I sat on the floor in the playroom and rummaged through my old things. But there were of course a few things I didn't want to part with, and having my own kid made the decision to keep them a little easier to justify: the plastic McDonald's French fries that transform into a robot, the pound puppy on wheels, the miniature pots and pans, the Cabbage Patch doll figurine, and a few other happy reminders of my childhood.

As cool as that stuff is, the most meaningful thing I saved from the trash box that afternoon was my autograph book.

When little eight-year-old me went around and made my family and friends sign that book, I had no idea of the treasure I was creating. Seeing someone's handwriting, especially when that someone is no longer here, feels like seeing something you're not supposed to see. Looking is like peeling back a curtain to peek at something sacred. The awe of it startles me. Since finding that little book, I've looked at the pages only a couple of quick times. I think I'm afraid the words will disappear if I look too long. I have a little note from mom, I have Dana Youmans' signature, and I have a note from Mama Bette. Paper treasures.

(P.S. In the pictures below, it was my bright, eight-year-old idea to have people write their real names in parentheses next to their greeting, I guess in case I one day forgot who they were or they became famous. Always thinking ahead.)

I also have a note from Dad:

Drew:

I'll claim the writing in the dark pen.
Drew refused my parentheses requirement.

Grandma and Grandpa:

One thing I regret about blogging my memories instead of writing them down is that future generations won't have pages of handwriting to run their fingers across and marvel over the fact that at one point, I was there. Pen and paper and me. Maybe this day and age, we'll start keeping our loved ones' laptops, and we'll marvel over the keys they so often touched. (I'm joking... sort of.)

That little autograph book, with the teddy bear, bicycles, and roller skates on the front, has taken me on quite a trip down memory lane since I rediscovered it, complete with smiles, lumps in my throat, and definitely a good laugh or two:

My 2nd-grade boyfriend James Welch

And here's a cute picture to end on so the parting thought of this post isn't James Welch:

 

 

I'd call the toy chest a roaring success.