Memory and autumn leaves

Because of the book I am presently reading (see above), I have suddenly become interested in the dredging up of earliest childhood memories. I love the way the author presents them from the viewpoint of the protagonist at the age he is when they are experienced, as opposed to with an adult spin based on retrospect. He gives us the opportunity to make our own judgments without allowing his own to influence us.

When I was born my parents rented out the top floor of their house and so my brothers and I all occupied the same bedroom until they were able to take over the living room of the upstairs apartment. My earliest memory is of me in my crib in the middle of the room, the elder in a camp cot against one wall, the younger in a bed against another.

My grandparents used to come over for Friday dinner a couple of times a month (we went to their place the other times) and one time my middle brother was sick in bed. My father had made a bed table for invalids, and I remember my grandfather getting on the bed, with his legs out, and playing Parcheesi or some other board game with my brother on the bed table.

In my memory, my grandparents are always gray, as in a black and white photo. I’m sure they must have had some colour to them, but they were both white haired, and my grandfather always wore a gray suit and a white shirt and sober tie. My grandmother dressed in pastels. There was nothing that stood out. So in my mind, they are gray.

I ripped the pictures from my camera today. There are too many good ones to post them all, so I have picked out some of my favourites.

For that last one I made my husband stop the car so I could get out and take it. It was worth it.