Day 241: My mother was known to leave me notes - on the peanut butter jar, on the refrigerator, on the mirror - a habit that continued throughout my life.
Even after her passing, we found notes from her, identifying random objects that otherwise we may not have understood the importance of keeping. She seemed to be saying "Pay attention to this. It is a treasure."
Recently, I mentioned that I learned about my dad's WWII travels from the gifts he brought home to Mom. This is an example . . .
Would a tarnished old butterfly pin readily identify itself as a treasure if it were just thrown in among the rest of her jewelry? Probably not.
Under her bed, she kept an old metal satchel with various items. Each had a tag like the butterfly's, explaining the item's importance. Twenty years later, it came in very handy, as one of Mom's cousins began writing a history of the family and wanted to know what year the Mallory Store had suffered a fire. My Aunt Mardi, the only living member of mom's family, called me and asked if I knew. She was only a little girl when the fire occurred, and she couldn't remember the year.
The very day after my aunt called me, I made a trip to Idaho to borrow the metal satchel to to use in telling the story of our great grandfather, who was struck by lightning. His hat and shoe were in the satchel and made for good visual aides. When my siblings and I opened the satchel, we found the lightning story there, but Mom had obviously sent the satchel to school with her granddaughter Debbie, because she had added some facts for Debbie to use in class.
In the corner of the page, in my mother's handwriting, it said "They owned Mallory's Store in Shelley, Idaho, and it burned in December of 1947. Debbie's great grandfather, Freeman Mallory, had these items in a large walk-in safe. That is why they smell of smoke."
With one little note of explanation, my mother had answered her historian cousin's question. It's a small thing, but it gave me the shivers, because it felt like Mom was still offering answers when they were needed.
As for the lightning story, well, the articles came in handy for my lesson before I tucked them safely back in the satchel, and then I noticed this note, in my father's handwriting, inside the satchel's lid. The satchel was my grandfather's missionary suitcase. It seems Mom wasn't the only one leaving us notes. Then there were more shivers, and a prayer of gratitude for parents who left clues to the treasures they left behind.
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