Trunk Restraints

Trunk Restraints

Noel Laflin

1-27-15

I first recall seeing the old domed-top steamer trunk as a kid.  It sat against a pine paneled wall of the family room for years.  The trunk made the move, along with my folks, to Leisure World many years later.  It was relegated to their garage at that point, safely hoisted to a large shelf, unceremoniously draped with an old army blanket – and for most intents and purposes, forgotten.

Following the death of my father, I took procession of both the old trunk and its contents – my parents’ correspondence - letters written during the stretch of World War II.  And from fleeting glances of a single page or two, they would appear to be love letters between two people newly married and then separated by a world gone mad.

As these Victorian beauties, domed-topped steamer trunks that is, were first manufactured in 1870, it’s tough to know for certain the exact age of this particular one, the one that now resides within the bowels of my garage here in Orange – protected by a plastic shower curtain.  But, they are common apparently, common enough for my folks to have acquired one somewhere along the course of their fifty-five year marriage.

 

I have been sitting on this family treasure trove of words,

endearments, and everyday gossip from seven decades

ago – always claiming that I would wait

until I retired before I opened that old trunk and begin to riffle through my parents’ young past.

 

Well, I am six months into my retirement, filling this wonderful opportunity in my life with intensified but leisurely photography, research, reading, writing, traveling, house cleaning, and - as the light lingers just a bit longer each day now - a desire to spend more time in the garden. But, the urge to open that trunk is growing stronger by the day.

 

And when that persistent itch becomes too unbearable, I will do the inevitable and scratch it.  Will it provide relief or just lead to more scratching of a past of which I'd love to know more?

Stay tuned.  You never know for certain what treasures an old forgotten trunk might hold.

Or for that matter, what ghosts emerge, either happy to see the light of day as they dance about and whisper in my ear - or silently hoping that I just close the lid and leave the words behind - in a trunk high upon a forgotten shelf.