Friday, February 19, 1999    


The Little Red Tin Box

By:Sharon from Brampton

Why do I scrapbook? I have never really thought of it before. Obviously I enjoy it or, believe me, it wouldn't be my favorite hobby, but "why?"...good question!

I guess you could say that it is because of a little red tin box. When my Grandma Joyce died in September of 1997 at the age of 100 years, I received a battered shoe box full of photographs from the late 1800's and early 1900's. My mother and I sat down to look through this treasure chest. Wonderful photo's from my Grandmother's life covered the kitchen table. Faces from my family's past stared back at me...but who were they? Who was this man with the huge mustache, smoking his clay pipe? Who was the woman sitting beside Grandma, looking like her twin in their matching woolen bathing suits. Was this a favorite horse that Grand-Uncle Tom rode, or just bet on? A few of the photo's had some spidery writing on their backs, but it was not enough. I whined in desperation.

Mom had a strange look on her face. She got up from the table and disappeared into the basement. When she returned, she sheepishly held a red, tin box that I had seen in the past "buried" under the stairs. After the dust had been brushed off, she handed me a pencil. "Start writing," she grinned. The box's hinges creaked open to reveal a second treasure; this one of my Mother's life. "Here, this one is of me and your Aunt Bunny in Muskoka...around 1949 or so, I guess. Now this is your father in his army uniform during World War II..." We spent a pleasant afternoon browsing through this collection. Sadly, some of the faces and places were forgotten. I will always remember the close feeling shared between Mom and I as the afternoon turned to evening and I learned so much about this woman I admire.

I guess that I scrapbook so that the questions that my 3 children may have will be answered if I'm not there. When we go through our albums, I want the warm feeling of happy memories to fill me up, not the desperation and anxiety of not being able to remember "who, what and where". Scrapbooking helps me to share my life with my children, and give them them memories that I hold so dear.

Tomorrow at dMarie Daily: I am my own Historian, by Amelia H.

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