Forgotten

Did I say I’d let you know what we forgot to bring on our 2014 holiday odyssey? We forgot one bag of gifts intended for our youngest grandson. At age three, he didn’t seem to be too upset about the missing bag of gifts. He, of course, didn’t know the gifts were missing. James, aka Benny, was happy to have his book, a big candy cane and to bring out every toy he’d ever received to LOML and I for inspection. Said bag of gifts will be mailed this week. Unless we forget to mail it. Of course, being guilty grandparents, we’ll probably include something extra for both boys.

The holidays passed so quickly, am I right? I’ve been catapulted into 2015 and have barely had a moment to think about how to attack this brand new batch of days. Sometimes, however, the act of doing something mundane, such as putting the holiday decorations away, stirs my imagination. I always have grand ideas for Christmas gifts, early in the year. I dutifully write my ideas in a little black notebook. Every year, I promise myself I’ll get my gift making started during the first week of January, then life gets in my way. By November, I’m scrambling for ideas and can’t find the little black notebook with the creative Christmas notes anywhere.

While putting the decorations away in the storage room, I came across a plastic tote box filled with old photographs and some really, really old negatives. Cue the music of distraction. I’d completely forgotten about that tote box. When we were clearing out my parents’ office, we had found dozens of photographs and envelopes of negatives tucked into drawers, pages of books, on shelves and behind shelves. The brothers and I decided to toss all the photographs and negatives into a tote and deal with them later. Later was January 3, 2015. Five and a half years after those sad days, I came face to face with forgotten images. For some reason, fate perhaps, I was drawn to an envelope that looked like it had my handwriting on it. “M & C’s W, 1976.” Inside the envelope were tiny photographs from my brother and sisterin- law’s wedding day. On many occasions, since that day in 1976, my sister-in-law had mentioned with sadness the lack of photographic evidence of their day. M & C were married at City Hall in Toronto, almost on a whim. And, there they were, in print. Black and white prints. I vaguely remember being the only person, on that 27th day of February, who brought a camera to the event. And there was the old envelope with the remembrance of a happy, cold day in Toronto. We all looked so young. Most of the brothers and sisters, together for an occasion to remember.

As I shuffled through those photos, I thought about how much fun the day had been. The mad dash from the Danforth to make the appointment at Old City Hall. My brother, the groom, didn’t own a car, and was almost left behind as we scrambled to squeeze everyone into a couple of vehicles to make the short trip to the Judge’s chambers. No one seemed to have change for the parking meters, and we all laughed about the cars being towed while our brother got hitched. Being a big, noisy family, our laughs and shrieks about the day echoed in the hallowed halls of municipal justice. It was a day to remember, for sure. And on the third of January, almost 39 years later, I am looking at the forgotten photographs.

I don’t think I’ll make these photos a Christmas Wedding Album project for 2015. I do believe they’ll be an extra wedding gift. The long-forgotten wedding gift.

theresa@wellingtontimes.ca