Framing the Dialogue

I was visiting my mother a week or so ago.  As we sat and talked, she commented about the poor quality of the telephone in her bedroom and talked about buying a new one.  I joked that Pap probably had one in the garage that she could use.  I joked, but knew that he probably had one there.

My Dad (Pap) worked for over 30 years for Bell Telephone, retired when the phone companies were split up, and started his own business with two friends who also retired from Bell.  He worked in the business almost until he passed away four years ago.  He knew phones.  He knew a lot of stuff, but he really knew phones. 

Bub needed a phone, so my nephew and I searched for the keys and ventured to the garage to look for a phone.  This is not the typical garage.  My Mom lives in the city and the garage is not attached.  This was where my Dad stored his stuff.  His phone stuff.  His garden stuff.  His tools (at least those that weren’t in the basement).  His car stuff.  You get the picture.

The garage has three ways to get in.  There is the main garage door where most folks might actually be able to pull a car into.  In my nearly 50 years, I have no memory of there ever being a car in our garage.  There was a side door that we had always used when we were young.  The third door was one my Dad installed some years ago that was on the opposite side of from the main doors, but closest to his house.

I tried the side door first.  It was secured by a faithful Master Lock and after a few keys, I was able to get the door open.  This was obviously not the entrance that Pap used as the egress was blocked with piles of his stuff.  I left the door open for light.  I then tried the main door, but could not find a key to match.

All that was left was the new door.  In order to get to the door, I had to move several five gallon buckets, and a few trash cans and some debris.  This had not been used for a while.  I tried key after key after key without any luck.  It did not look good for Bub’s phone.

For some reason, I just tried the doorknob and sure enough it opened.  The door had not been locked.  Maybe the trashcans were security enough.  As I stepped into the garage, it was like seeing my Dad again.  His stuff was there where he put it.  I doubt that anyone had really ventured into the garage much since he died.

As I write this I imagine that this is like what archeologists must see when they find a new room in a pyramid.  My peek in the past is not from thousands of years ago, but it was a comforting look at my Dad’s stuff and it brought back memories.  Good memories.

This was obviously his space.  As I looked around my eyes were drawn to a brown paper bag that he had hung in the rafters.  It was an ordinary bag like you may use to carry your lunch.  He had a lot of his treasures hanging from those rafters, but the bag intrigued me. 

I carefully removed the bag from its nail not sure about the contents.  The bag was very light and there was a note on the bag that read “Seed New Flower by Gym.”  He had apparently collected some seeds from a flower that he liked.  He must not have known what it was called, but liked it enough to collect, dry and store them in a place where he could plant the seeds.  He may not have known its name, but the description of where he collected them told him all that he needed to know.

The really unusual thing about this is that I have ten or more of these same brown bags in my garage.  In each bag are seeds that I have collected.  Each bag also has a note about the seeds.  I have the names of most of them, but used his location method too; “Pink Clematis Near Corner of House.”

You know the old saying:

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

That little brown bag made my day. 

As I look around my life and house I see many things that remind me of my Father.  Our garage is attached, but I gave up parking my car on my side years ago.  Space for my car gave way to space for my stuff.  I have stuff stacked on my stuff with more stuff on top of it. 

I often go out and buy the widget that I need rather than dig through my stuff to find one that I most certainly own.  Some of my most precious things are his tools that he gave me when we bought our house.  He had doubles and triples of many tools.  My favorite is a red handled pair of “Bell System” wire cutters.  I am using them now as I change all of our light switches and outlets from beige to white.  Women!

Before I got started on replacing some of those outlets, I had a cup of tea and went to take my vitamins, but found that I was out of my containers.  Many people have those pillboxes with the days of the week, but I put my daily doses in black plastic containers that I saved from my diabetes test strips.  I really only started doing this in the past few years, but it is convenient.

My wife came in as I had thirty or so containers lined up, but had never really seen me to this.  I am not sure if she rolled her eyes, but as I explained my system she was impressed at my efficiency.  That is what I think that she thinks.  As we talked, I was reminded again of my Dad. 

My Dad was very in to vitamins, minerals, oils, etc. and used to get frequent packages of vitamins in the mail.  My favorite was a chewable vitamin C that was called “rose hips.”   They were very much like a Sweetart, but good for you.  I have some dried hips in my cupboard that I sometimes add to tea.  He was always on the look out for something new.  He had a prescription to Prevention Magazine to get the latest health news.  I know that it should be “subscription,” but prescription may be more appropriate in his case.

My Dad use to fill small pouches with our daily dose of vitamins.  They were little tan paper envelopes that could be reused.  Rather than a multi-vitamin, we took multiple vitamins.  We learned to swallow medicine at an early age.

Until this morning, I had not made the connection between what I now do with my vitamins and what he used to do for ours when we were young.  Sorry Pap, but I do use a multi-vitamin as part of my regimen.  I do try the odd new supplement once in a while.  I have added B6 to my containers.

I went back to his “space” again today.  I probably spent 90 minutes looking through his treasures, but I admit to being drawn again by that brown paper bag.  I had to take a picture of that bag.  I would like to plant some of the seeds in my yard this year, but could not bring myself to take the bag just yet.  Maybe soon, but not yet. 

I am feeling more like my Dad as of late and I think that is a good thing.  I liked my Dad.  I still miss him.  It was nice visiting his stuff today and realize that we are both just a couple of pack rats.

In case you are wondering, Pap did have several phones in his garage.  My nephew set up Bub with a brand new Princess telephone.