My “entertainment center” sits in my living room, conveniently viewed from my bed and from my recliner. My 43” smart TV reposes atop. The shelves are heavily laden — with books. Mostly.
Arrayed around the feet of the TV are a variety of what-nots. Some few are trays of “things” that I load into my pockets when I dress to go out.
Others are mementoes, reminiscent of Mom & Pop.
The two table signs, which they displayed on their table in the flea market to identify Mom & Pop to the customers who wandered by. Others are miscellaneous items associated with their personal existence.
Aluminum ingots, souvenirs of Pop's career with Reynolds Metal Company in the 1940's. Pop's metric folding rule, used when he was fitting pipe. A silver minnow fishing lure, favored by Pop while fishing in the Tennessee river.
And an orange washcloth.
That obviously requires explanation.
In 2002 I was living in Birmingham, while working on a contract job with
Raytheon Engineering. In June I loaded my 24 foot travel trailer, and drove to El Cajon (California) to join others of my family in recognition/celebration of Pop's June 21st birthday.
Ninety years old. Impressive.
On the 21st there was the normal gathering of all present family members to share his company in celebration.
Then my sisters departed, and left me to visit alone with my father. One afternoon we sat in his trailer and talked.
I sat at the breakfast nook bench/table, and he sat in a chair across the room while we talked. Those few minutes remain precious to me.
While we talked I glanced idly to the counter-top adjacent to the dining nook.
Close by was a bright orange wash-cloth.
Curious, I lifted the edge and peeked under.
There I observed Mom's revolver, in Pop's care since Mom died.. I took it in hand and looked it over — it had, and has, for me strong emotional attachment.
A discussion of that gun is covered in another essay that I have previously composed.
I replaced it carefully, just as I found it, and thought little about it — at the time.
In the years since its significance looms larger as time passes.
Some fourteen years later I set up the apartment in which I presently reside. I bought the entertainment center at Goodwill (the source of much of my furnishings).
For reasons that escape me I chose to place an orange wash rag atop the entertainment center, and artfully concealed beneath the cloth a child's toy revolver. In and of itself, and apart from the chosen application, the toy gun is totally insignificant.
But in its implied association it evokes an emotional memory in association of that day in 2002 Pop's trailer, and Mom's revolver, that is very strong.
As I pass it each day I glance at it and remember. With a sweet sadness.
I know that I am not alone in feeling regret that I did not make the effort to spend more time with my parents in their later years.
If only I could do it over again!!
Mickey
