I thought maybe I would resurrect Memory Monday. Or maybe it will just be this one. I do need to get back to the Great House Clean-out after a year away to do book stuff.
This re-discovery gave me a chest full of nostalgic ache. My father had, of course, many wallets over the years—plain black or brown ones–and I’ve thrown several out. (Begs the question of why he kept them when they were worn out.) But this early, less plain one, I remember well. I’m sure it’s older than I am, and wonder if he carried it overseas during the War. It’s the only one I’ve found photos in (my mother and his beloved sister Helen) and I weep for the wanting of them to be young again, with their lives ahead.