Old Sucrets Tin

Old Sucrets Tin

Time is measurable. Over the summer I went back to the old homestead in Pennsylvania to visit my parents. Mom and Dad have reached that age where time is fleeting, and I dread that final moment. I cherish the time I have now, knowing time is our enemy.  I think every child does. We don’t recognize when we are young, just how fast time moves, even.  In the end, we all beg for more time.

My mind and spirit are entrenched in the 25-30 year old stage.  Years have slipped by with me just holding onto the leather strap, whistling a tune.  Sure, there have been moments of pure joy and sadness, but sometimes, I just feel like I’m coasting.  That I’m letting my legacy slip by without its proper due.  And as time grabs minutes from me, I look for objects to spur the old memories cataloged away in my file cabinet of a brain.  So I dug through home’s little hideaway and found items that I remember vividly from my childhood.

One was this gold Sucrets tin that my grandfather had in his chest of drawers.  When I returned to the States, after living in Scotland for almost seven years, I was tucking things away in my grandfather’s desk to be used as I researched, I found it.  I opened it up, and examined the small treasures.

img_0230 My grandfather was an active Mason in our local lodge and there was his fifty years of service pin.  I remember him wearing that same pin on his lapel.  I don’t remember the medal, but friends tell me it is also associated with the Masons.  I can understand that with the black ribbon and white enamel.  There are cuff links, and a necklace.

My mother’s baby ring, and some old ring that I have no clue what it is, but it is missing a gem.  I’m afraid to clean it or if I should.

Just small tokens of evidence that someone lived.  As time passes, these items shift into the mythic…a mythology of a life.3acbea82-b18c-4f80-b69d-5c18bb6937f0


Even my high school ring was in the box, and a few rare coins from the mid 19th century.  I don’t even think they are worth anything in the condition they are.  Maybe in another hundred years?

This is a legacy.  But legacy is so much more.  Sometimes it is hard to define.  Sometimes I wonder why we even have all of these representations of our lives as I try to process my parent’s remaining years.  Only two questions come to mind now:  1.  What will I be when they are gone?  2.  What comes after?

The first question has led to some poetry but I’m not ready to share that.

More questions ponder


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