The Snows of Yesteryear

It is spring. With it comes the urge to clean house.

I am staring into a closet full of correspondence, journals, diaries, projects, hundreds of photographs, and personal belongings that family, spouse, and friends have left in my keep after they drifted into the great hereafter.

Dad willed me his correspondence spanning almost 60 years. Mother insisted that I should get her journals, full of unexpected revelations. My exiled spouse left me with all of his family’s memorabilia unfortunately, none of his family survived WWII, and friends who drifted through this world and ended their journey in Los Angeles have left me with countless boxes of photographs. Some of my closest friends, though all very different, had one thing in common, and thirty years ago lived difficult and often tortured lives. Several entrusted me with their most personal writings. Sadly, most close relatives I contacted refused to read, let alone listen to their stories.

I was born into privileged surroundings witnessed and documented many interesting social events.
The opportunity to travel came at a young age. For years, I made photography a hobby. I took pictures of people I knew. It was easier then, there was greater freedom of movement. That era is dead. The kind of life I was able to photograph does not exist anymore and most of the people I photographed are gone. It is interesting to go through the boxes and rediscover them. Even so, they were well known, they were the most natural, unpretentious people I ever met. They never talked about themselves.

So, I will return the pictures back into the closet and leave them for others to discover some day. Instruments and sheet music I will donate to a music school, since I no longer can play. The more personal and intimate writings I will submit to the shredder.

I do not feel to nostalgic about that time, although I liked it better than this one. I feel just very lucky to have been part of it, and I really enjoyed myself.