I REMEMBER

I remember...

Precious words for a 55-year-old post-menopausal extremely busy techno-savvy English-teacher-type woman.   Speaking with my doctor this morning about my 81-year-old father and the issue of the "aging brain"--he confirmed that the brain does change in predictable and consistent ways as we age...not sure if that is a comforting thought. And yet, I reminded him that there are always exceptions to the rule, such as our neighbors Chuck and Marge--a delightful Christian couple who share a strong faith, solid marriage, varied interests, and an active lifestyle. Letha and Dallas are also exceptions.  Their eyes twinkle as they share a joke, shine with pride when they talk about their granddaughters.   All four of these septa/octo-genarians work or work out every day. Dallas and Chuck have household or yard projects going every day. At the tender age of 77, Farmer Chuck converted his twelve acres over to a garlic farm with 90,000 heads and fourteen different varieties! Sometimes he may take on a bit more than he can chew, but he is a man blessed with a variety of talents--for writing, painting, landscaping, woodworking, breadbaking, etc...  Both Chuck and Dallas still fit into their Army uniforms.  All four also possess a wonderful sense of humor.  None of them show any sign of memory loss.  Both couples passed their golden anniversaries a few years ago. I think that says something about the impact of a good marriage--a life well spent with someone who would love them through the good times and the bad--on our brains and our overall health.

I remember...

...my mother always kept her hair short according to the fashion of the day. In the fifties when I was born and during my toddler years, she wore her dark brown hair in a short, neatly trimmed bob--maybe it was called a page boy--with bangs trimmed short straight as a ruler across her forehead and curled under. She was a pretty woman always neatly coiffed. In the 60s and 70s, she wore it shorter in layers, teased at the crown to give it height and pin curls in front of her ears. Seeking the Audrey Hepburn or Jackie O look, she used a black rinse and a lot of spray to keep every hair neatly in place. In the car she always wore a silk scarf double knotted under her chin to keep her hair from blowing out of place.

I remember...

(something red without using the word red)....

...Ruby glass gets its color from gold.

...Ruby slippers in my favorite childhood film, The Wizard of Oz, symbolize borrowed empowerment.

...She carefully placed the prom dress pattern pieces on the shimmery crimson cloth. The satiny fabric did not yield easily to the pins and scissors. She hoped to use the scarlet color and skimpy line of the dress to get him to notice her--to shatter any image of her as bookworm teacher's pet.

...Some people get attached to Birks or old Chuck Taylors. Not me. I get stuck on night gowns--the kind made out of t-shirt material or flannel or terrycloth.  I've only had a few since I married Steve 35 years ago--actually I can count them on one hand. Let's see, there was the old "Boycott the Telegraph" men's t-shirt for those first few years. I think that one may still be around as a dust rag or something. Then along came the boys, so a motherly oversized "lovely lavendar" t-shirt with a Tasmanian devil silkscreened on the front. That one lasted until only a few remnants of the silkscreening remained. Good ol' LL lasted about seven years when Santa left me a new nighty under the Christmas tree-- a candy-apple colored terry cloth sac of sorts which zipped up the front and gathered snug around the neck with a candy-cane striped drawstring tie. Within a few years, that one became affectionately known as "ratty ol' red." Throwing away that 24/7/365 candycane sack seemed somehow sacrilegious. For the last eight years I have been wearing the same soft floral cotton-knit sundress-turned-nightgown which has a whole lot of life left in it, much to my family's dismay.  "Oh, Mom, are you still wearing that thing?"

I remember...

the sound of the haunting train whistle in the middle of the night-- freight or passenger and the clickety clack of the wheels on the tracks. I have often wondered why it is such a comforting sound to me--perhaps it comes from knowing someone else is awake during that ungodly hour of the night, or maybe it somehow reminds me of God's everpresence.

A picture of a teacher from elementary school....

I looked forward to going to school every day of my fourth grade year. Blonde, neatly coiffed chin-length bob, Mrs. Healey wore tailored wool suits and belted dresses with pearl earrings every day.   She was not a particularly fun teacher, at least not in a stand-out way; however, she was a kind, calming, and effective educator who ran her classroom in a traditional, yet caring manner.

I remember...

A meal I loved...

Growing up, it was hamburgers and beans every Friday night. B.M. (Before MacDonalds). Pan-fried "hamburgs" on soft white grease-soaked buns--19c/bag of 8 at Fisher's grocery store on Jackson Street in Painesville. Undoctored Campbells' pork-n-beans tossed into a saucepan on top of the electric stove with the sauce boiled away, burning beans stuck to the bottom of the pan. If Dad cooked, he would lay a slice of cheese atop each pattie. Enter Mickey D's into Lake County and pan-fried hamburg Fridays turned into fast-food runs to the very first set of Golden Arches in Willoughby. My little sister, Linda, and I excitedly squeezed into the back of the pastel pink brush-painted Volkswagon Beetle, for the ride west to the golden arches in the days before seatbelts.  Might we catch a glimpse of Ronald?  What a treat!

What I don't remember...

The day I was born.

The first three years.

Why I was mad.