Lögberg-Heimskringla - 01.02.2012, Page 11

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Lögberg-Heimskringla • 1. febrúar 2012 • 11
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I dredged them out of the crawl space. Plastic yellow and red boxes filled with
35mm colour slides, strips of
black and white film in brittle
paper sheaths. They’d made
many moves, Winnipeg to
Riverton, to Snow Lake, to
Pinawa, Manitoba, then off to
Iowa and Missouri and, finally,
to BC. Here, they’d moved
to four different houses. The
evidence of those towns and
cities is all there, although some
places spark no memories.
Perhaps they were taken during
a move but why did I take them?
It’s a mystery.
I’ve had to relearn how to use
a scanner, to master some new
programs, although master is
probably the wrong word since
I’m struggling to understand
some of the functions. I’ve
managed to copy the slides and
film onto the computer.
The first thing I’ve
discovered is that even in their
plastic boxes, the pictures are
covered in dust. I’ve had to go
to London Drugs to buy a lens
brush. I’ll have to start all over
again, cleaning slides and film
strips before I make a final
copy.
Dust or not, I’m reliving my
life. Once again, my daughter
is all dressed up in a pink
dress, sitting in her high chair,
reaching for the birthday cake
her mother has made for her.
In another picture she is sitting
astride a kiddy car (at least that’s
what I think we called it). It’s
got bright red metal pedals, a
wooden seat. She’s got on white
shoes and white socks with her
pink dress. I’m not sure she’ll
be able to reach the pedals.
She’ll grow into her gift.
But who gave her this
locomotion, this childhood
treasure? Did we buy it? Is it
from her grandparents? I’ll have
to call my ex. She remembers
everything. Like most men, I’m
not good at details. She was at
home, spending each day with
our daughter, taking care of
her, helping her, teaching her,
making the world a good place
for her. I was off every day
teaching school.
That’s the problem with
being young and having
children. Young is a very busy
time of life. Going to school,
getting a job, working for
advancement, buying a house, a
car, furniture. We were fortunate
because my wife was able to
stay home. But I was learning
to be a high school teacher and
tutoring on the side.
There’s another picture,
earlier, taken from the back as
our daughter is teaching herself
to walk. She’s using the edge
of the couch to help her pudgy
little legs hold her up.
I remember that couch.
All we had was a hundred and
fifty dollars. Even in those days
a hundred and fifty dollars
wouldn’t buy much. A friend of
a friend sent us to a factory that
made furniture. That’s what I
loved about Winnipeg. There
was lots of manufacturing and
if you couldn’t afford Eaton’s
or The Bay, there was usually
a connection that would get
you through the door of a
wholesale.
Even the wholesale didn’t
have anything for a hundred
and fifty dollars. But, the
owner, seeing two broke kids
in desperate need said, “You
know what? Someone ordered
a couch. They put on a down
payment then didn’t want it.
Custom made. One fifty and
it’s yours.”
Green fake leather. Built for
giants. It was the biggest couch
I’d ever seen. We took it. We
could seat the whole family on
it. It was not built for moving
but we moved frequently and
we took it with us. What else
can you do when you get a
great Winnipeg bargain? Years
later when we left for Iowa so I
could go to graduate school, we
didn’t haul it with us. I wonder
what happened to it? I’ll have
to ask my ex.
Each day, I send my son and
daughter a picture from their
past. My son wrote back and
said he remembered the sandals
he’s wearing at the cottage
in Gimli. They were a bit too
long and he kept stubbing his
toes. He admires a flowered
shirt that I’m wearing at the
beach and says that he’d wear
a shirt like that. In those days
I wore nothing but flowered
shirts. I’d forgotten. When we
moved to BC, I adopted the
local camouflage, plain shirt,
tie, tweed jackets, wool slacks
in winter, cotton in summer. I
gave up my cavalry boots for
shoes.
I go back time and again
to the picture of my one year
old daughter on her kiddie car.
My heart aches as I look at
her for with the picture comes
the memory of picking her up,
holding her, helping her learn
to walk.
I would that I’d taken a
thousand thousand pictures
of her and her brother but I
came from a family that hardly
ever took pictures. We have to
make do with these few small
treasures.
When my daughter saw the
picture of her one year old self
in the high chair reaching for the
birthday cake, she wrote back
and asked, “Is that me?” Yes,
yes, that was you. It all seems
quite magical, birth and growth
and aging. All the people we
have been. Yes, let me remind
you of your younger self.
A busy time. Lesson plans.
Grading papers. Tutoring to
make extra money. Taking
classes for a BEd. Writing.
Writing. Trying to get
published.
But there was time for a
cake, for a birthday party, for
presents, for a pretty dress, for
a photograph.
Thank God for that
photograph.
Photo and story from
wdvalgardsonkaffihus, a
collection of daily essays, Bill
Valgardson’s online blog, used
with permission from the author.
PHotos courtesy of W.D. VaLgarDson
Old photos have the ability to store memories
Above: Bill’s daughter, Nancy-Rae, one her first birthday;
Left: Bill’s father, Dempsey, with Bill’s children,
Val and Nancy-Rae
W.D. Valgardson
Victoria, BC
Old photos