A life-time accumulation of family relics. They slowly scuffle through the disarray-old lamps with dented paper shades, a wire magazine holder, cracked crochet mallets falling from their wobbly wooden stand, an old red paint-chipped tricycle, an equally scarred blue 16-inch boy's bicycle, a conglomeration of sagging cardboard boxes filled with tattered toys, faded baby clothes, frayed childrenfs books, tired old dolls, and tangled Christmas decorations. The last time I heard them they were the vibrant voices of youth leaving for college and the world beyond. Dad always said he didn't want to outlive her and have to clean out the attic." They sound older and wearied, but I still recognize them, the twins, Betsy and Jim. Why didn't she just throw it away instead of lugging it up here for us to haul back down again?" "You know Mom, Bets. "Oh my God! Would you look at all this clutter, Jim. Someone is coming up to the attic, the first time in over two years. Wooden steps creak under the weight of heavy feet. A metal-on-wood grating sound accompanies the dissonant screeching of rusty springs as the folding stairs are pulled down. Jagged shadows scurry across barren rafters lining the stark ceiling. The bare 100-watt overhead bulb flashes on. Mary Ruth Memories of Mobile.We Still Remember Return to Home Page |||Īnother Time, Another Place-Lady Lois, Little Jean
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