I spent time with my stamp collection this evening which means I also spent time with a bunch of memories from home, growing up. My beginnings of collecting stamps started with Grama and Aunt Chris. Hours upon hours, we would stand over the kitchen table spread out with hundreds and hundreds of stamps, soaked and dried and ready to be sorted to go into the book(s).
'thing is, a single stamp could spark hours of conversation. Aunt Chris would talk about her memories with Grama and then they would tell me the stories of the goings on through the nineteen-fifties and all through the sixties.
I was hooked, not only to collecting stamps, but, also, the stories. Since Grama raised my brother and I in a style that drew experience from The Great Depression all the way through the end of the Vietnam War, I felt a connection to all of that history. The textbooks in school could tell us the bare-bones facts about what happened, but, to hear of the experiences first-hand was golden to me.
Tonight, I was reminded of those times when I was brought back to the past. I would take a look at a single stamp and remember back thirty years ago to the same stamp on the kitchen table, and hearing the conversations -- literally hearing the voices of Grama and Aunt Chris going on about life, in general.