“SOMETHING OLD, SOMETHING OLDER…A REDISCOVERY”

What is “rediscovery?” Of course it is discovering again. There are infinite stories rediscovery can tell.

Maybe you’re moving or just doing some Spring Cleaning. You open a drawer or find a box that’s been sitting in the back of a closet, and there it is:  A “Rediscovery!” You hadn’t seen it for years – probably decades, but finding it now brings back all kinds of memories. Maybe it’s a kitchen utensil or a throw pillow or a photograph or a stapler your father had on his desk when you were growing up. Hold it in your hands and allow the pictures it generates come to you. You could write a chapter of your personal history based on that one rediscovery.

Then your mind starts chugging away – it’s not only an item, it’s an era. That throw pillow sat on your grandmother’s living room couch as long as you can remember. On one particular visit, you and your brother had an argument, and in a fit of frustration, he picked up the pillow and threw it at you. He knew it wouldn’t hurt you, he just felt it would end the discussion. But he was wrong. 

Your grandmother intervened. She grabbed the pillow and held it to her chest as tears came to her eyes. You and your brother were startled at her reaction. After she explained, you understood. The pillow was designed and crafted by her own grandmother. It had been a gift when your grandmother and grandfather moved into their first home. The pillow was made of the fabric from her grandmother’s wedding gown – it was a family treasure. It had sat quietly on her couch for years until your brother picked it up. Your grandmother feared that it was harmed and you were remorseful and apologetic.

Eventually, your mother placed the pillow in a box to preserve it, and there you found it. That simple item could bring back all kinds of memories about visiting your grandmother, the fun you had together, the rules of the house that were sometimes strange to you, and her glorious apple pies.

What do you have in your attic or basement that reminds you of times past? Write about it. Let the memories flow – wander off-subject if you want to.

JG Entry

I knew it was there, but hadn’t seen it for more than thirty years. In the carton were stacks and stacks of sheet music and books I used when I was learning to play the piano.

After two attempts to get me interested in playing the piano with professional teachers, my grandmother decided to take over the chore. Was I really unteachable? I could carry a tune, sing a song, had some kind of musicality in me, but learning how to make music on an instrument was not going well. Instead of JohnThompson’s Teaching Little Fingers to Play and then graduating to Mr. Thompson’s more advanced First Grade book, my grandmother brought along her own lesson plan. Scales, fingers curved, and more scales. Where was the sweet “Nana” who played gin rummy with me and treated me to ice cream when the Good Humor Man came around? Who was this task master (mistress) who wouldn’t allow me to get a drink of water or go to the bathroom during the thirty minutes we spent together twice a week. “You’ll never learn if you don’t practice,” she told me. She was right, but when hop scotch or roller skates were calling to me, how could I spend my leisure time sitting on a piano bench?

Of course I regret that I never became truly proficient. Eventually I grew to play some of the songs in the old, falling-apart books that I would never have seen from a “real” piano teacher. I mastered the traditional “Fur Elise” and even got pretty good at “Slaughter on Tenth Avenue” and a few of her other selections. I never reached my goal of “Rhapsody in Blue” and probably never will. I could go on forever with memories stimulated by those old, yellowing sheets.

What about you? Did you ever play an instrument? Do you have another story of Rediscovery?