A garage-full of wonderful memories

The young couple in the frayed black and white photo looked to be in their 20s. Their eyes were bright and optimistic and they both had a full head of thick, dark hair. Both had a broad smile which made me feel that they were happy when the photo was taken. Also in the photo was my sister Mary Ann, who was born in 1941. She will celebrate her 85th birthday in July.

It’s because of that young couple, I thought, that I’m standing here in the middle of this two-car garage on a blustery Sunday afternoon in November.

The young couple that held my stare that day was my mom and dad and the photo was taken at a time when they had their entire life ahead of them and long before they knew me. When the photo was taken I suppose I was, as the saying goes, still just the gleam in their eye.

My dad, Bill Muir, had died six weeks earlier and in the ensuing weeks since then my family had gone about the task of sorting out his personal belongings — sorting out 87 years of living, 60 years of marriage, the birth of four children and more than four decades of living in the same house on the same corner. Since my mother, Geraldine, had passed away four years earlier, I guess it’s fair to say that we were sorting out their life, and it was a good life.

That particular day found me going through the large two-car attached garage- my dad’s domain for sure. I would describe the day as a cross between a therapy session and trek down memory lane.

My parents’ generation has been correctly called “the greatest generation” however I believe they could have also been called “the keep-it generation” – meaning that they would prefer to keep their possessions, whether they needed it or not, rather than throw it away.

I’ll stop short of calling my dad a pack rat, but I laughed out loud at some of the things I discovered – all neatly in place I should add – and shook my head wondering why he kept some of the items he did. I discovered one small box with approximately 25 nozzles from empty cans of spray paint and a shoebox full of heels off of shoes, some worn and some new. Another box contained at least 50 small pieces of used sand paper. In many instances there was more paper than sand. And it was like that throughout the day, rolls and rolls of tape, shoestrings, coffee cans, nuts, bolts, nails and even a box of water bills from the 1950s and 1960s. Upon examination the water and sewer bill back then was $2, mailed in an envelope that contained a four-cent stamp.

The prize of the day came in mid-afternoon when I pulled a small motorized object from a closet inside the garage. It was mounted on a stand and had a spotlight attached with a well-worn electric cord that had a small switch. I knew immediately what the gizmo was and knew that there was also a second piece. Upon further searching a plastic, multi-colored wheel about the size of a plate was found. I remembered the apparatus because it was used with an aluminum Christmas tree. The wheel was connected to the small motor and sat on the floor beneath the tree. As the wheel turned the tree changed colors from red to blue to yellow and to green. It was all the rage in the early 1960s.

I quickly assembled the wheel to the motor and sort of held my breath as I plugged in the well-worn electric cord. To my amazement the spotlight lit up, the wheel slowly started turning and the chiming sound of “Silent Night” could be heard.

At the exact same second that the light came on I was immediately transformed into a small boy standing with my dad on the sidewalk in front of our house braving the winter cold, while waiting for it to get dark to see the aluminum tree change colors for the first time.

In the high-tech world we live in today children would consider an aluminum Christmas tree and a multi-colored light that plays Christmas carols dull and boring. But, standing beside my dad that cold December night many years ago it was a magical moment – a moment that brought a smile to my face and at the same time put a tear in my eye and a lump in my throat when I recalled it more than four decades later.

When we look around this holiday season it would be easy, with a sagging economy, increasing unemployment and growing anxiety at every turn, to get robbed of the joy and wonderment associated with this wonderful time of the year. So, instead of dwelling on things I have no control over I’m going to instead offer thanks for good parents, that wonderful old aluminum Christmas tree, a multi-colored revolving wheel, the soft chime of “Silent Night,” spray paint nozzles and a box of used sandpaper.

In short, I’m going to be thankful this holiday season for a garage-full of wonderful memories.