In the Attic

Blowing off the dust, putting a broom to the cobwebs and discovering the occasional snakeskin (can’t begin to describe the reaction that brought!) I was clearing out our stuff that had been stored for over 10 years. It wasn’t an attic upstairs, or a cupboard under the stairwell, for me it was a corner of space, a pile of stuff against a wall in a back room. Since moving back to Thailand, I had a lot of catching up to do, putting the ‘woman’s touch’ to things again.

Memories. The cot (crib) in which each of our children, as babies, had taken their turn in sleeping, now full of boxes upon boxes of photos and videos. My husband being a keen photographer always had the camera ready. Ironically, I, myself, am very camera-shy, camera, videos, you name it. I hate having my photo taken. But I do love looking at photos. How I love looking at photos, photos of the kids, photos of family, photos of friends, and not just my own either, other people's photos too. I find them so intriguing, some mysterious, some often telling a whole story; the faces - some happy, some sad; the smiles - some genuine and others just a façade. A photo can say a lot about people.

I pick one up out of the box on my lap….for a minute I am transported back in time. A photo catches a moment in your life that you can never get back again, your thoughts, your feelings. Pictures speak a thousand words, they say. “When I find a spare moment, I should put them all in albums; scrapbooks made with tender care” I mutter to myself. ("How they are kept says a lot about a person too, I chided.")

My bubble pops…the kids had filtered in one by one and had gathered around, peering over my shoulders and discovering their various baby and toddler photos, the noise of teasing and sniggering rising to a crescendo.

“Look at you! As a baby! Awww”. Someone grabs their baby photo and makes a run for it, threatening to ‘tear it up’ for sheer embarrassment. “Oh no you don’t!”, I ordered, rescuing it from its doom. They’re mine to keep.

Another photo….“Hey, Mum, you were so skinny back then, with goggle-eyed glasses too!” “Was that what you and Dad used to wear??” Now it was my turn to turn red.

This started a wave of questions of what it was like in my day. The kids were kind of a century or two out with their estimates. "Yes, I was a teenager once. No, not in the 50’s, or the 60’s either; it was the 70’s. No, I didn’t have an afro that was a foot high and two feet wide! "

After what seemed like a million questions later, the novelty wore off and I found myself alone once more. I straightened up the loose photos, placing them carefully in the box and closing the lid, I put it back in its place in storage, safe and sound, perhaps to gather dust just a little while longer…that is until I find the time to make those scrapbooks…whenever that would be...hopefully not another 10 years from now.

With my 2 year old, now out of nappies/diapers, suddenly becoming fiercely independent and wanting to do things ‘not your help, Mummy’ - time is flying by all too quickly. I let out a little sigh.

Grand-children, you say? I’m not ready for that just yet! :-)


Copyright 2006. Rebecca Laklem.