My Museum Is Closed

Have you fallen into this trap?

Thinking you have a secure storage area only to find out sentimental items have disappeared, broke or were donated?

Ok. I admit it was naive of me to think my childhood bedroom would remain a shrine for life. To be honest, I should have done more to protect any items I had any attachment to. 

In my defense, I moved into my first apartment not long after I graduated from college. It was a studio apartment and there wasn’t a lot of room for my bed let alone mementos of years gone by.

The first thing to go was my snow globe collection. This was an accident. A mirror toppled over in my “former” bedroom breaking a few of my treasured items. At this point I don’t even remember what existed before the destruction so this isn’t that big of a deal. I have accumulated a pretty nice collection since then, mostly holiday related, alongside my wedding cake topper that has soothed the loss of any snow globes that came before. 

My prom dress - that was a big one. I am not sure how that ended up finding its way into a Goodwill donation bag but I continue to look for it when I go thrifting.

I think I had this notion that the Kristen Museum would be there forever to house the items that tell the story of my life. That is so not the case. Keep in mind I have two other siblings that probably feel the same way about their things. And a side note...all three of us spent many years living out of state. I am sure my parents wanted to de-clutter their house and create their empty nest love shack. 

(I look around my own house after 18-years of child raising - I have redecorating dreams too.)

I recently told the story of my piano, in a state of disrepair,  that I gave the green light to have removed. While my father was working on taking it apart, my husband mentioned (unbeknownst to me) that he would like the bench. He thought I would appreciate having a memento of my childhood piano and he planned on refinishing it to make it look like new. The bench held 8 years' worth of instructional books and sheet music I had accumulated. 

When anyone other than me would open the bench, it probably looked like a lot of clutter and random papers. But among the books and papers, a treasure was hidden. 

When I first started taking piano lessons, back in the early 80's, my dad’s father went to the music store and bought me a book of old standards, some of his favorites, including "Goodnight Irene" and "Let Me Call You Sweetheart" plus he picked up the sheet music for "The Sound of Music". 

For a kiddo just starting out on the keys, these songs were challenging. It would be a while before I could ever attempt them. To be honest, the songs always remained challenging. I wasn’t that good at reading music. But I held out hope that one day, I would be able to play them for him. My grandfather passed away before that day came.

This has been a regret I carry with me but again I have always had hope for a future recital. That hope came to a crashing halt when my husband and I went to pick up the piano bench from my parents’ garage. The first thing I did was lift the lid and I almost lost my breath. It was empty. 

“Hey, Dad,” I nervously called out. “Where's all the stuff?” 

I began to look around the garage frantically. There was no sign of a catalog worth of piano books. My dad promised he did not throw anything away, but I had my doubts. He did not understand the relationship I had with those items or the future concert I was planning on performing. 

A few days later, my mom took pity on me, probably because of the prom dress debacle, and let me know when they would not be home. I was able to go over when the house was empty and look for my books. Luckily, it didn’t take long for me to discover the very items I thought were gone forever. They were in the garage, in a tote, underneath a bunch of photo albums and knickknacks. 

Those items mean more to me now than they ever did when I was younger. My grandfather died when I was 12 and I really don’t have much to remember him by. This music was such a personal gift and it offers insight into a complicated man who I really never got to know. 

I believe I inherited his love of music and the two of us probably had more in common than we had the opportunity to realize. Maybe that is the true gift?