Mother was our scrapbook keeper, saving stories about us and our evangelist and musician friends during the 1940’s and ’50’s. These books were much too big to travel in the car on The Glory Road. They stayed on a shelf in the apartment we rented in Texarkana while we toured the South.
When we made a quick stop before hitting the road again, she tucked clippings inside, often adding handwritten captions. Something about watching her work with them set her apart for a few hours from the mostly unsentimental person we knew. Always nocturnal while the rest of us were early risers, you’d find her at the kitchen table long after we’d gone to bed, still drinking strong coffee, adding stories with her scissors and tape.
Every time I turn a page now, edges crumble, leaving a trail of scraps on the floor. I’ll preserve these using whatever technology works best.
Nita Faye, when I read this a BIG smile came to me. When we were at KXOA-FM you told me that ‘daughter’ would sing this song, but it was ‘faded phonographs’. There was more but I can’t remember them all. Still, when I hear that song that is how I hear it. Thanks for the memories.
Ro – I’m cracking up over here. I ALWAYS hear Csthleen’s version in my head. I’m thinking it was “fainted phonographs.”