I have been going through old photographs recently and it has been a blast from the past.
My siblings and I are lucky enough to have had all of my daddy’s slides converted to digital files so that we can look at them and have copies of our own. There were thousands and it has been a lot of fun to spend time looking at blasts from the past.
I saw this picture of our kitchen in the parsonage in North Fairfield, Ohio.
Immediately I was transported back to that day some 45 years ago. A day that is still vivid in my memory.
See that red arrow?
See that square in the corner of the formica countertop?
That little trivet is hiding something.
Something that I did.
Confession time.
I made popcorn and put the hot pan on that exact spot WITHOUT a hot pad or trivet.
Yep.
You know what happened.
Heat + formica = melted and burned counter top.
So now you know.
When I found this picture I saw that and remember exactly how I felt at that moment. I knew I had messed up. Living in parsonages meant that we were dependent upon the congregation to provide our home and we tried to take care of it. When I did this I remember feeling horrible and like I had somehow failed those people who provided this home for us.
Years later I still remember.
Hopefully the kitchen has undergone a remodel since then and this little scorched area is long gone.
How often do pictures evoke memories? I may not have a great memory or remember a great deal about when I was really young but this I remember. Because I remember feeling like such a disappointment.
Perhaps some 45 years later it is time to let go of those feelings.
20 Comments
Leave a commentSuch a big weight of responsibility for little you to feel. I love looking at old pictures. I don’t have a lot of them and almost all my family are gone so there are no answers to questions. Love that cheery kitchen and I have a red glass bowl similar to the one in your picture only smaller. It was my Mom’s and now it holds the cranberry sauce for Thanksgiving every year. See what great memories you evoked today!
Thanks so much. I was amazed when I saw that picture how clearly that memory came racing back to me. Fortunately I have many more memories that are happier and those are the ones that I tend to remember.
I relate. And, yes, there is definite power in photographs and memories. And, music fuels the power of these. Jim Croce is singing in my memory, now. Hugs.
Oh yes—Jim Croce is in my head as well. Music does the same thing, doesn’t it? Takes us back.
My dad took slides too! I scanned them into digital files a few years ago and it is amazing to look back at one’s life. You must have been really good if this incident stuck with you.
I was a very “people pleasing” child and took everything to heart, that is for sure. I just remember how much it was impressed upon us that this was not our home and that people were providing it for us so we needed to take really good care of it. But I remember that coming more from my mom than my dad. And of course I took it to heart. 🙂
You’re a sweetheart!
I love looking back through old photographs. It’s funny what you remember sometimes and how it makes you feel. I’m sure that kitchen has undergone a remodel or two since those days. 🙂
I hope it has gone through some remodels but you never know! I do still know people that live there so I may have to check in with them. 🙂 Thanks for stopping by!
I love that you got your Dads slides made into digital images. So fun to look back and remember stories. I think replacing the burn spot with a trivet is actually a pretty genius solution.
🙂 It was genius and goes who made that trivet in Vacation Bible School? Yours truly.
Oh, I was going to ask if you made the trivet!!!
How wonderful that you have all of these photos. Images from my childhood are few, filling only a few pages of an album.
You are definitely right about photos bringing back memories. Even the not so good ones. 🙂
Well, at least you didn’t carve your initials in the coffee table. Why I did that I didn’t know. I was the least destructive kid ever. In fact so much so that my Mom chalked it up to a seven-year-old accident and found a way to rub it out more or less. I still appreciate the benefit of the doubt–she could have killed me. And like you there is still a part of me that feels awful—I mentioned it once, and my mom said to poof those feeling away-just part of living with a kid.
Like you I am going through pictures. It is a fun blast from the past. First and most challenging step for me is to gather the images all in one place. I am almost ready to send a batch off to be scanned (Groupon–Southtree love this place). Lots of pictures are already digital and lots to go. I suspect this will take me at least a year, but I am committed to a bit of time every day and more on the weekend. I’m even pitching a bunch…hardest thing for me to toss and I am a relentless tosser.
Pretty red bowl and very cheery kitchen!
Organizing our old photos is on my to-do list but I haven’t started it yet. Sometimes I wonder if my memories are really memories or I remember certain things because of those old photos. Anyway, I can imagine how you felt when you accidentally marred the parsonage counter top. My question is why is there a photo of your unfortunate mistake? And aren’t we all glad that there aren’t photos of all the times we did something wrong? Yikes!!
I am sure I am the only one who sees that photo that way. My dad was a good one to take photos of rooms so we could remember after we moved and I am sure it was the case here. Only “my” eyes can see that burn mark.
I love looking at old photographs. They do evoke memories. Some good, some not. I broke the special frame on my mom and dad’s wedding picture when I was young. I felt so bad and still do. When I became an adult, I bought her a very nice frame to replace it and mom said she liked it even better but I still never got over breaking the original.
I love the old photo. The tiles along the wall are really pretty. I think that trivet is perfectly located to provide a little extra place for a spoon dish or something.
Oh you poor thing! We lived in a manse (Presbyterian term for parsonage) before moving here. I remember well the feeling of not wanting to ruin anything.
By the way, did you have a Jim Croce song on your mind when you chose your title, or is that a happy coincidence? 😊
This is what happens when I don’t read all the comments before commenting! Ignore the Jim Croce part! 😉