...not literary but significant to me...my mom's favorite movie is National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation...midway through the film the father, Chuck Griswold, gets locked inside of the attic and forgotten while his extended family goes out for breakfast...he knocks himself in the head a few times and then he warms himself in all the antique clothing, fur coats and women's gloves, and gets tearful watching old 8mm movies of his family...then the cord gets pulled and he falls out of the attic...my mom really loves that scene...great project bud...
...not literary but significant to me...my mom's favorite movie is National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation...midway through the film the father, Chuck Griswold, gets locked inside of the attic and forgotten while his extended family goes out for breakfast...he knocks himself in the head a few times and then he warms himself in all the antique clothing, fur coats and women's gloves, and gets tearful watching old 8mm movies of his family...then the cord gets pulled and he falls out of the attic...my mom really loves that scene...great project bud...
I grew up in a house with a stuffy attic crammed with all manner of bric-a-brac and memorabilia. My mother kept three trunks there. One held her academic medals and other relics of the stellar training that failed to get her hired as a university professor. Two other trunks—one for me, another for my sister—contained our report cards and all the stories and drawings we created at the dining room table, our entire child minds. After our mother died, my sister emptied the house for a yard sale, an exhausting, days-long project. I was working far away and couldn’t help, except to tell her what to do with my trunk. “Send it to the dump,” I said. What else was there to do, with the house sold and new owners on the way? Thirty years later, I wish I could open that trunk for a parting look at who I used to be.
Awe, thanks for sharing. It seems like everyone has trouble knowing what to do with these boxes of mementos. On the other end of the spectrum, my grandma (she's 102 and counting) has boxes of reciepts dating back to her 20s probably. She keeps EVERYTHING so we're going to have to do all of that sorting when she passes one day. I'm trying to find a happy medium between allowing myself to be sentimental but not letting it weigh me down. It's interesting how these objects stay on our minds even when they're gone!
I feel transported to a different time and place. I love the literary references. Of course I love how commonplace items become filled with magic after they have lost their usefulness in a culture. I also love this idea of what cultures do with the past. Do we keep it or burn it? Do we pass our dirty secrets on to the next generation or pretend they didn’t happen?
I live in a 120yr old house in the oldest part of our settled city. I’ve never been to the attack, although the door to get in does exist. I wonder if any remnants exist?
As a child we always moved and my mother, though sentimental, was not a writer. She kept photo’s and dolls and childhood items but her mother kept a journal. I think I would rather receive a journal than a doll from my grandparents. Though it’s written in German, so I will never be able to read it.
oooo, spooky! Let me know if you venture up there. I'm sure there's something to find after all of that time. I love living in old houses. My building just turned 103 I believe. There's an entirely different feeling I get being in an old building verses something newly developed. The history seems to connect me tyo something.
Maybe you could have the journal translated? I know we don't like AI but it does have it's benefits- it could probably be translated from a photo these days. There might be something useful in them : )
...not literary but significant to me...my mom's favorite movie is National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation...midway through the film the father, Chuck Griswold, gets locked inside of the attic and forgotten while his extended family goes out for breakfast...he knocks himself in the head a few times and then he warms himself in all the antique clothing, fur coats and women's gloves, and gets tearful watching old 8mm movies of his family...then the cord gets pulled and he falls out of the attic...my mom really loves that scene...great project bud...
Oh I really love that! Poetry can be in everything. Now I wish i'd included references outside of literature!
...not literary but significant to me...my mom's favorite movie is National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation...midway through the film the father, Chuck Griswold, gets locked inside of the attic and forgotten while his extended family goes out for breakfast...he knocks himself in the head a few times and then he warms himself in all the antique clothing, fur coats and women's gloves, and gets tearful watching old 8mm movies of his family...then the cord gets pulled and he falls out of the attic...my mom really loves that scene...great project bud...
I grew up in a house with a stuffy attic crammed with all manner of bric-a-brac and memorabilia. My mother kept three trunks there. One held her academic medals and other relics of the stellar training that failed to get her hired as a university professor. Two other trunks—one for me, another for my sister—contained our report cards and all the stories and drawings we created at the dining room table, our entire child minds. After our mother died, my sister emptied the house for a yard sale, an exhausting, days-long project. I was working far away and couldn’t help, except to tell her what to do with my trunk. “Send it to the dump,” I said. What else was there to do, with the house sold and new owners on the way? Thirty years later, I wish I could open that trunk for a parting look at who I used to be.
Awe, thanks for sharing. It seems like everyone has trouble knowing what to do with these boxes of mementos. On the other end of the spectrum, my grandma (she's 102 and counting) has boxes of reciepts dating back to her 20s probably. She keeps EVERYTHING so we're going to have to do all of that sorting when she passes one day. I'm trying to find a happy medium between allowing myself to be sentimental but not letting it weigh me down. It's interesting how these objects stay on our minds even when they're gone!
I feel transported to a different time and place. I love the literary references. Of course I love how commonplace items become filled with magic after they have lost their usefulness in a culture. I also love this idea of what cultures do with the past. Do we keep it or burn it? Do we pass our dirty secrets on to the next generation or pretend they didn’t happen?
I live in a 120yr old house in the oldest part of our settled city. I’ve never been to the attack, although the door to get in does exist. I wonder if any remnants exist?
As a child we always moved and my mother, though sentimental, was not a writer. She kept photo’s and dolls and childhood items but her mother kept a journal. I think I would rather receive a journal than a doll from my grandparents. Though it’s written in German, so I will never be able to read it.
oooo, spooky! Let me know if you venture up there. I'm sure there's something to find after all of that time. I love living in old houses. My building just turned 103 I believe. There's an entirely different feeling I get being in an old building verses something newly developed. The history seems to connect me tyo something.
Maybe you could have the journal translated? I know we don't like AI but it does have it's benefits- it could probably be translated from a photo these days. There might be something useful in them : )
So wonderful to read about what developed for the attic!