My grandmother and grandfather had a picture hanging over their sofa. I remember times when I visited them as a child, running across the living room, jumping on the couch and pointing to a house in this picture. In our fantasy world, my grandmother and I claimed this house as one of our own; a place we lived in, by a lake, amidst beautiful mountains and green hills.
This picture is a lithograph actually, Spring Lake by Amadeo Boroni. It isn’t worth much, just a plain image printed on a dense type of particle board. But its value has become priceless in so much as it reminds me of the world my grandparents and I created beyond this one.
We remember the past through photos and trinkets. We even remember it through distinct smells and familiar words. But for some of us, memory is held in a fantasy, a unique world that only the holders know. For such a memory to be strong, there must be at least two holders of the fantasy, two individuals to create it, and there must be an object (animate or inanimate). The object is just as important as the two individuals because it is the key that unlocks the door to this fantastical memory.
My grandmother and I were the primary holders, using the key on weekends together to roam the mountains surrounding our Spring Lake; to carry water to the small stone home with the red and white blankets drying in the sun. We would pack up a picnic basket and sit in the grass, near the water’s edge to eat and bath in the sunlight. We imagined friends who would come to visit. They stayed in the house nearby.
My grandparents left this world long ago. Spring Lake by Amadeo Boroni is now in my home. It’s mounted in the room where guests sleep when they stay the night.
Each time that I enter the guest room I look at this picture and I see myself near the lake. I see my grandmother and my grandfather. Our fantastic memory has remained in this world even though they have left. They’ve remained in another fashion, among the green fields and snow-capped mountains of a spring lake, reminding me of happy times, of beauty, and most importantly of love.
Copyright © Tyler Gant 2009
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