This picture was taken in July 1976. It's my sister and I on our first day of school (3rd grade for me, 2nd grade for her). You have to read the journaling in order to understand the meaning of this layout. The journaling is hidden. The whole middle of the layout opens like a folder and the journaling is underneath. It's long, but I think it's worth it. ;-)

Journaling:
In August of 1975 my father died. Soon after, my mother returned to school and began to work. "We can't sit here, close the drapes and cry," I remember her telling me. Life had to go on. I was 7 and in second grade. Emily was 6 and in first.

Mom reports that she tried to set up after-school care for us. We were to spend the afternoon at a neighbor's house until she came home and picked us up. She also reports that I immediately resisted this plan, telling her I wanted no part of it. I don't remember this, but I can imagine that I just wanted to go home after school. I must have resisted strongly enough and seemed trustworthy enough that she eventually gave me keys to the house. I wore them on a red, plastic cord around my neck.

Now, with a 7-year-old second grader of my own, it's a little hard for me to imagine this. It's not that I don't think my 7-year-old responsible enough to handle such a task. I believe he would do fine. But the world has changed a lot in the last 31 years and I would worry a great deal about the walk he would have to take from his school to our house and the things that could happen to him during that trek. But for me, it was the 70's in safe, suburban, Irvine, California. And we were very lucky. Nothing bad ever happened.

I imagine Mom must have worried, but I never remember feeling nervous or scared. After school, Emily and I came home. I opened the door and we came inside, locking it behind us. (Okay, once I locked Emily out, but I'm not going to discuss that here.) We knew not to answer or even go to the door until Mom came home. We knew not to answer the phone unless it was Mom's code: ring once, hang up, then call again. I've wondered along with Mom about why it is that I never felt any fear or concern? She says, and I think she's right, that the worst possible thing had already happened to us. Once surviving that, nothing else seemed quite as frightening.

Emily never got her own set of keys to the house until I moved out in 1986. Even after I left, I kept my keys. They've come in handy many times over the years, especially since my own mother never had keys to her own front door. She always came in through the garage! Could it be she gave me her own set back in 1975 and never replaced them?

This summer, in July 2006, Mom got a new front door for her house. It's a beautiful double door, oak with panes of leaded glass. As a result, I got new keys. And I started thinking about the old keys, still dangling dependably from my key ring after all these years, and couldn't bring myself to just take them off the ring and toss them in the trash. They are part of who I am. So, here they are. The silver one opened the lock on the handle. The gold one unlocked the deadbolt. These keys…and a picture of the two little girls who just wanted to go home after school.

Materials:
All papers: Basic Grey (Gypsy)
Rub-ons: Autumn Leaves (stitches--they were white, but I didn't like that they didn't show up, so I went over them with my black pen); Basic Grey (vines)
Letter stickers: Basic Grey (Gypsy)
Chipboard letters: Heidi Swapp
Ribbon: Heidi Grace
Vintage keyholes: Melissa Frances

Inside hidden journaling:
Rub-on letters: Scenic Route
Stamp: Sassafrass Lass
Ink: Color Box

Thanks for looking!