- Books, Literature, and Writing
Memories and reflections
Why do we take things in life for granted, never appreciating what we have until it's too late. And not telling the people how much we love them while we have the opportunity, no that would be too easy. Instead we act hard and tough, keeping our true feelings to ourselves.
I have a small tin of odds and ends that I will always keep. Not because it is valuable, but purely for sentimental reasons. Its age is obvious by the battle scars of dents and scratches on it. I believe, it once belonged to my mother who handed it down to my eldest sister Vera, Margaret, Beryl eventually ending with me. My first memory of seeing it was in Wembley when I was five.
Inside is a variety of trinkets, needles and pins, each reminding me of particular incidents. One day my sister, Beryl, had been doing some fancy work and a needle had fallen unnoticed to the floor. I found it, as it became embedded in my foot as I raced inside from playing. It bent in half when it hit the bone.
Yes, poor Beryl had the job of getting it out, amid my screams of protest. Band aids kept in this tin came in handy for these emergencies.
One time we had been fishing for minnows in a drain opposite our home in Wembley. We used a pin on a piece of string to catch them. Somehow our dog Spotty escaped his leash, we both ran after him. Beryl saw the strand of barbed wire stretched across the track and ducked under it, but oh no, not me. I ran and became entangled painfully by the neck. Whenever Mum and Dad went out, which wasn't often, something had a habit of going wrong, leaving Beryl to sort it out. I was very shy as a child, yet somehow I still managed get into trouble.
In this memorable tin we kept other odds and ends from our games. A dice, counters and small round colored berries with which we wiled away the hours. There were threepence's and sixpences, also a lock of my baby hair that either our mother or elder sister had kept for some reason.
I added some of my own memorabilia. Girl Guide bits and pieces, my first work badge and other odds and ends. This tin has moved from one country town to another all over Western Australia and is still intact.
Occasionally I take it out and browse through its many possessions, reminiscing on the individual memories.
Today, some fifty odd years later, my tin still reminds me of our childhood. The memories come flooding back, helping me cope on bad days by reminding me of precious moments spent with sisters, gone but never forgotten. And wishing, I had told them more often, how I much I loved them, before it was too late.