I’m packing up my stories and taking them with me.

I’m moving from one side of town to the other, condensing a three bedroom house with lots of storage into a shared space so I am paring down my belongings.  It’s a very slow process because each item requires a decision and because of all the memories that are evoked.

Everything that I own is passing through my fingers and bringing multiple layers of personal stories to mind. The kitchen table I use every day was the first piece of furniture my parents bought when they got married in 1942. The comfortable heavy wood chair in the living room was my father’s “Archie Bunker chair.” The drawing of mountains in Nepal from Jennifer Sargent’s thesis show. The candlesticks my grandmother brought on the boat from Hungary when she immigrated to America in 1910. The crooked ceramic bowl my son made in grade school. A large mixed media artwork I made from 720 slide mounts. Hundreds of photos, each one reminding me of the time it was taken and the story behind it.

If you want to remember some of your personal stories, look around your home and be inspired by the things that are important enough that you keep on packing and moving them to the next house.

Looking through a box of old family photos with a friend the other night opened a flood gate of stories about my younger years.

This picture of my ’50 Chevy invoked lots of memories!  The car was 17 years old in 1967 when I bought it for $300 from the original owner in Saugerties, N.Y.  It had 1700 miles on it  - that averaged 100 miles a year.  The only thing wrong with it was there was a hole in the muffler so my father fixed it with an orange juice can (the metal kind) and wire from a hanger.

I drove out of Woodstock, NY in 1969 in this car and headed West to the wide open spaces of Colorado.  With 4 “new” retread tires for seven dollars apiece, we were good to go.

We weren’t in a rush and it’s a good thing because top speed, going downhill was around 60 miles an hour. Most of the time we cruised along at 50, watching cars whizz by.  Gas averaged about 25 cents a gallon and Motel 6 actually cost six bucks a night. OK, the rooms weren’t first class but with all this economy we were able to travel the 1600+ miles on the $100 we had in our pockets and arrive at a friends house with enough to go out for dinner that night.

People of all ages enjoy hearing about the “old days” either because it stirs up their own memories or because they learn a bit of history.  I had lots more adventures with the ’50 Chevy including getting Canadian plates on it and finally selling it when the engine died.  But the clock still worked!

Next time you open a box of old photos, have someone handy so you have an audience for all the stories that will jump out with the pictures.