Thank you, Rochelle, for the memories your picture this week has stirred. I am sure we all have many items in the attic or at the back of the garage that were once loved but are now forgotten. Eventually, they end up in junk shops because we think ‘someone’ may find it useful.
Click on Rochelle, to discover the background of Friday Fictioneers. More 100 word stories on this photo-prompt are available HERE.
The musty smell of antiquity evokes my engrained fear of Grandma Louise. I see a porcelain pan, and I retch. Mornings, I had flushed grandma’s contents down the outside toilet.
I wander junk markets conflicted with angry and fond memories, to relive my chaotic childhood. The Bible that bruised my skull, the flea infested shawl for winter huddles. The horn handled stick with which Grandma beat sense into me. In a cruel way, she was loving and kind, and a penniless old hag with an infectious laughter that endeared forgiveness.
She left me a landscape, a ‘Constable’. Thank you, Grandma.
The whole family together; that’s what I’ll do. Put all these pictures into a leather-bound album. I need to sort them; uncles, aunts and the great-great somebodies or another? My brother’s family pictures have survived as has one of Uncle Bert in uniform. I am not sure how old my mother was then, but the boy on the tractor, well that’s me with Baxter my collie. Oh, here’s Auntie Rose with a Derringer tucked into her fishnets. Was that real?
‘Family memories?’ said the nurse.
‘Yea, that’s all I have left.’
‘Okay, we need to change those bandages.’