Guy Things
The pictured cork bottle-stoppers remain shrouded in mystery.
Of course I know who owned them and where the hand-carved and painted collection originated: brought from France by my grandfather. He emigrated to the U.S. shortly before WWI. There isn’t a lot of detail about his growing up before that. What is a fact is that he spent his new life in New York City in the spirits business; and I don’t mean chasing poltergeists.
Maybe “Pop” put them in his suitcase because he had visions of being a bootlegger, akin to Joseph Sr. Patriarch of the Kennedy clan?
Well, although monetarily and socially insignificant compared to Kennedy and his millions [perhaps adding minions as well] my grandfather somehow did manage to pay cash for a multi-family house in New York during the Great Depression. And that was achieved on a “Bartender’s” and “Merchants” income working at the New Yorker Hotel.
This family intrigue pushed me to send a picture of the fenced-in Lilliputian characters to an old friend in France; the intention included adding more provenance to my French collection.
That request led to Alain contributing that he has seen artifacts like mine at a flea market north of Paris, but not recently. On my next visit we could chase related sources and try to find out more about them. He also mentioned endearingly that his grandfather was a sailor on commercial sailing ships to China. While on the two-month voyages his grandpa made boats-in-a-bottle; Alain treats one he has with reverence.
Just as I received that reply I got a blog post from a friend in Australia. It was sheer coincidence that much of what he wrote about was discarding inanimate things. Mark was in the throes of his city’s effort to minimize stuff left outside that could be whipped around dangerously during the approaching cyclone season: hurricane for us.
One item on his trash list was a wooden door he had made to an under stairs cupboard for his then 2 ½ year old son; it was to recreate a Harry Potter sanctum sanctorum, the rage at the time. The act of throwing away the door tugged at my friends’ heart as memories of his boy’s fantasies confronted today’s reality of the young man entering high school.
Over the years I’ve talked to other men about things we hang onto because of the fond memories attached to them.
It’s not a subject that’s often broached, guys being guys; although it might be a good one when we are sitting around exchanging cold-brewed wisdom.
There are also things I value that bring memories of a different kind: for example a bottle opener I’ve had in my pocket since I was eighteen. My best friend to this day gave it to me when we were pledging our college fraternity. To say it is well traveled since is an understatement: there once was that time in Manila………………………….If only it could talk.
And in a way it does, but the secret’s safe with me.