I admit to being a little desperate now. I had in fact finished with the few found pieces from my Grandpa’s wallet and brief commentaries on these, but I have enjoyed my recent visits with him so much I returned just now but could only find this scrap, just a receipt for milk and eggs, and to make more of it than what it is would be silly.
I left the image of it large though.
So this is it from the wallet and memories prompted by some contents. I have many more memories of my Grandpa from my visits at his and my Grandma’s home, and I have a few photos that I might share with similar explanations, done for me really as an important process of recall. I do want to tell the story of Christmas Eves there in Elk Horn, and Santa Claus with his grotesque plastic face.
Other memories of time in that archetypal American [Danish!] small town, mainly from when I lived there for a while rather than the occasional visits, will always be with me: the bluejay that swooped down to slap me on the head with her wing and I thought – I don’t know why – it was my aunt Maxine who had hit me with her broom; the toy soldiers that melted in the summer sun on the pavement; the rock fights; the older boys who did mean things; the cherry bombs and chicken heads [shared already here]; nearly burning down the town; the barbaric abattoir; crouching under desks in case of atomic bombs.