A memory born

Just the little things tend to roll through my mind, of the thoughts, the moments  or memories that time stopped, and some part of your heart told you to remember this, you’re going to need it someday.    You’re going to use it to look back on, it’s going to be the glue that’ll help hold you together when everything else seems to be unraveling.  It’ll be the icing on the cake, a thought that was sweeter than you had expected it to be even at the moment of it’s conception.   A memory a blip blurb of time.

This was a memory being born.

Mom doing her little dances

Being ornery and taking out her teeth just to annoy you.

Those are only two, if I took more time there would be a few or more, no matter what or when the time is ripe and I’m just sitting, along will come the memory a lovely reminiscing.

 

The transparent ear and a can of beans

For more times than I can count  I’ve perused my online hometown newspaper, like I do everyday and  there have been items that called out for questions to ask mom. 

I’d always go to her if a certain event or God rest their soul, someone’ s name was in the obit.   She knew so much and I never quite accessed her never ending vault of information like I should have.  She would tell you if she rode the school bus with him.  If he liked her or made fun of her glasses, or if he lived down the road from the farm.  

   The house was owned by Dr Blabadiblaba and he was quite something in his day, ya know he married Jane blaba, I used to work with her at the hospital.  We used to go out on a Saturday afternoon if we weren’t working, we’d take the bus downtown and shop.  I used to go to Blbblalblbla’s Dress Shop, I bought the cutest things.   It cost this and  I had to save for ages to buy it.

 

I thought I’d remember everything she told me, because I heard it all a hundred times.  Like everything else, it is like a sieve, straining out what I dont want to hear (shame on me) and keeping in what I think is necessary.  What was necessary was sitting there, not being preoccupied with the mundane I thought was important.  I knew it too.  There was a little voice in the back of my cranium telling me to pay attention, I’m going to regret this if I don’t.   Why do I need to know about so and so living a road over or Mrs. Magilicuty living a few houses down and she used to can beans, the best in the county.   I have heard this story a hundred times already. 

 I’ll tell you why and to anyone who is reading this, because it is important to give our parents or anyone for that matter, our full attention.  Because we do not know what tomorrow holds, or if we will ever see that person ever again.   Our life is important too and so are the situations in it right down to the tube of toothpaste you need to remember to pick up at the grocery store.  When we interact and connect with someone else it should be full on engaged impact listening. 

I cannot change yesterday, I can only work on today.  Holding myself hostage of all the times I didn’t pay attention isn’t fair either.  When I sit down to read the paper and I’m seeing someone I think I should know because of the stories I’ve heard, the urge to pick up the phone to call mom to ask her if she knew her, or the place or whatever it is. It is the moment when the full circle comment comes true and through and I have to make peace with myself and pull up  Mrs. Maguiladuy and her canned beans and be happy with that.

Jello with pearls please

If you imagine the life of a woman in the late 50’s/60’s, it was a setting of an idylic time..or was it, and for whom.   When I think of this time, I think of crisp dresses cinched with a belt.  Hair in it’s place and of course the ever elustrious white pearls and only because of dear June.  Jello molds in all variety of colors and flavors adorned the latest cookbooks.  The only question would be fruit or veges to incorporate inside the colorful wiggly taste sensation.  

This was a time before paper or plastic and it was much more fun to recyle in those days.  Grab your “pop” bottle and run to the nearest carry out for your nickle.  The end result was penny candy and a returned bottle.  A means to an end or an delightful begining.

I could rant on for the overworked housewife of those generations.  Of how she was a workhorse to the home and family but there would always be a flipside to this, and comparing it to the now generation, mothers are still overworked inside or outside of the home ..in some ways this looks remarkably better.   I was one of those children from that generation, privileged to have my mom there when I left in the morning, or came home for lunch and after school.   I liked having  her if my fingers were freezing making a snowman, and she would warm them up with a nice cup of homemade cocoa.    

 I realize how hard my mother worked,  she didn’t choose this generation and I didn’t either, but I am truly grateful she was there.  We did and do what we are called to do and she did it very well.  There are yearnings of a time passed and also glad tidings of new inventions for the future that took the place of the ever-ready greased elbows.   Those elbows had to be good and greased for cleaning windows, washing and ironing curtains, gardening, canning, child rearing, cooking, cleaning, and there was so much more.   Meals weren’t handled at a drive through  window, because you worked all day and were too tired to cook.  There was time for dinner even if it was a light dinner and the family sat down together and cleaned up together.   The only fast food then was a tv dinner baked in the oven, a raw carrot or a piece of fruit if that was your fancy. 

Work was hard  and it taught us something, or it should have.  It was something by the end of the day where you felt a sense of accomplishment, and had some sore muscles.  In the morning, the sparkle of the windows and the crispness of the curtains were proof of a job well done.   When you put your clothes on, complete with  creases down your trousers (yes i said trousers) you knew somebody ironed them or either you had learned to  because it was something you needed to learn.  The brown bag lunch that was packed for you probably held homemade bread or something fresh from the garden planted to sustain you through the summer and the winter as well.   Everything, everyday was a ripple from the day before. 

I yearn for the smell of cotton sheets just off the line with freshly ironed pillowcases.   I would love to reach up and grab the apples off the trees and rip my gums up from the not so ripe apple that is set to give me a belly ache.  The blossoms of the cherry tree should be falling all around me because I shook  the limbs till white flakes were flying like newly fallen snow.  With anticipation of the ripe round red cherries that would soon be in season, I sit in the tree picking the mounds of beautiful amber colored sap on the  strong dark limbs, the taste of cherry and apple pies that were made so many  times can only be visualized of their tasteful essence.   These images of sights and soulful flavors of yesterday will always be a part of my very being, resting with the memories and the appreciation of all the hard work instilled in me, and the hope that I passed on the same……..

Olly Olly Ox in Free  and the street lights are on it’s time to call it a night.

 

A proper place

I will always remember your zeal for fun, laughing, and that need to give……………and take it back later.  Not a bad memory just an understood one. 

The last time I saw you I remember the softness of your arm and being able to tell you I loved you.  Sometimes dimentia has its proper place.  I am not going to cry when I think of those moments I will stop and think, cherish and find some moment that you made me laugh.  I will remember you decking the nurse.  I wasn’t there but I was told you did this.  I’m not going to be upset, maybe for the nurse, I know dimentia has it’s proper place.

I will  remember with clairity, the moment you went from incapabilities and fought your way back and how you still kept your dignity.   How you somehow kept the nurse laughing, although I know she saw through the darker  moments too

I have dreaded this time since I was a little girl, I remained frozen in icey hot fear of this day.   Even now I choose to look on it with some kind of humor.  Right now you are in a box, in my  bookcase and you really didn’t like to read.  But you would have enjoyed the sunshine. 

My comfort is in knowing you aren’t struggling, you are with dad, shaking your head at him.  I can hear you say, “Bus, stop that, or Bus, let’s neck, or I’ve missed you”  Whatever it is, you are where you are supposed to be.  You and dad are laughing, finally, final, at last.  

 I can almost hear the music of gloria from peoria.