(110) Scrapping with Grandfather

In prior posts we may have given a skewed impression of Grandfather's declining years after the burning of the Lansdowne Library. While the family's bent toward melancholy did take hold he remained productive and engaged with life in various private fashions. Among his worthwhile endeavours was the patient and meticulous assembly of a 2400 page scrapbook of girlie photos. Said scrapbook brought a quiet joy to Grandfather's world and certainly could have been said to have done little to depress our own adolescence.

Some bleary days after a particularly raucus New Year's Eve party in honour of 1961 we discovered, to our immense sadness, that the scrapbook had been stolen. POWcityblog bunker security initially suspected none other than revolutionary politico Fidel Castro, a last minute arrival at the party. Refusing to entertain the notion that the unexpected life-of-the-party, a punchbowl chugging man-of-the-people such as Fidel, would resort to stealing a family heirloom from its cabinet next to our Gutenburg Bible we resigned ourselves to the loss and pressed on with other business. Five decades later, Sweet Mother of God, but the scrapbook has reappeared! The Internet, wonder of End Times signs and wonders, just this month has come to include an electric facsimile of Grandfather's treasure.

It would seem a college boy found the scrapbook in a dumpster in the United States of America some eight years after it had been stolen. The horror, the joy that swept through us. Such memories that came rushing back to us! We would litigate with extreme prejudice, and regardless of cost, until the sacred scrapbook was back in our hands.

At least, such was our initial thinking. But alas, the more we try to hold on to something friends, the sooner it will be lost, yellowed Scotch tape and all. World, the scrapbook is yours, mine, ours, and above all ...Grandfather's.

editor's note: one click and ...damn, they fine! Fine like a parking cop on his first day.