Drowning

Jan 26, 2019

We frequently went on vacations with my Aunt Margie’s family. We would rent cabins up north and have a huge week long family party. It was usually my parents and Mary and I, , my aunt and uncle and their three boys, and maybe later Liz and Cousin John. Those trips ended one year, probably because they were too expensive, or because life changed, but I remember some fun times.

 I was around 4 or 5 and it was the day we were leaving. To say goodbye to the lake, we walked out on the pier and for some reason, I decided to bend over and drizzle sand in the water. My eldest cousin walked behind me and brushed into me, and I tumbled head first into the water. I panicked. I swallowed water and couldn’t see. My cousin jumped in the water and got me out before any damage was done. I did have to ride home in wet clothes, though.
To this day I tell people he pushed me in... he retorts that at least he saved me. And as a result, I have an intense hesitation at diving head first into any lake, river or pool of water. Luckily I look crappy in a swim suit so not swimming isn’t a great sacrifice for me.

Catching up

Jan 25, 2019

Ok, it is actually the 27th and I am catching up. I have been blogging in my head, so here goes.

As a child, I was never the fastest or best athlete, but I completely tried. I gave my all, but as far as gym class or sports, I did not have a competitive nature. I really wanted two things...to be a good sport and to have fun.
If I could cheer lead for both teams I would. I have always been an optimist. If i lost a serious game of tag, I would remember that I didn’t push anyone over.
If I couldn’t find you during hide and go seek, I would commend your choice of hiding places. I think part of it was because I refused to accept anyone’s criticism of my performance. How sad for someone to say...you really can’t catch, and hear me answer, well you are a powerful hitter. No one can make your frailties a fault, it you augment their skills.
Maybe I should have been a professional supporter.

The future

Jan 24, 2019

I wanted to be a cowgirl like Dale Evans. Should have moved to Texas.

I wanted to be a Mom. Harder than taking care of my baby dolls.

I wanted to be a nun but even Sister Marie Edward ultimately left the order, and she was perfect.

I wanted to be a ballerina, but didn’t have the dedication.

I wanted to be a chef, but preferred to cook for fun.

I wanted to be a lawyer, but that was too much work.

I wanted to be a doctor or nurse...nah! That only lasted a day or two.

I wanted to be the best at one thing, but became ok at many things,

I still don’t know what I want to be, but I will some day.

Special nights

Jan 23, 2019

When we were younger, there were big movies. Films like Sound of Music and My Fair Lady were shown downtown at a theater. Attending The Ice Capades and stage shows were rare. Tickets were purchased ahead of time and it was like attending a Broadway show or event.
When mom and dad wanted to expose us to movies and the arts, we would prepare for weeks. Mary and I had to be on our best behavior the week before the show or we couldn’t go. Our table manners had to be perfect as well, because the show was preceded by a dinner at a good restaurant. I mean soup and salad...entree...cocktails (kiddie, but a cocktail none the less)...dessert. It was a time for us to be wined and dined like adults and then off to the event. We wore our Sunday best. We acted like ladies.
My parents raised us to be a tribute to them. We would be gracious to the wait staff, respectful to our parents and other adults we would meet, and good to each other.
It was easy because by learning how to act in public, we became better, more gracious adults. By learning to appreciate the people who waited on us, seated us and even took our tickets, we learned that everyone is important and should be thanked for the service they give. And by these events being few and far between, they were so very special and created a lasting memory for us.

The library

Jan 22, 2019

When I was in first grade Milwaukee opened the Atkinson library. It was half mile from my school and we would have field trips, walking from 25th and Capitol to 19th and. Atkinson. After my quick trip to library school at the age of 4, this was heaven.
My favorite story is one of our first trips there. My mom was chaperoning the trip and when we arrived we gathered in a room to hear from the librarian before we could get a book. As usual, I was fooling around so when I got to the room, all the front chairs were filled. I wanted a front chair, and based on my actions, I felt I deserved one. I simply walked to the front, tapped a little girl from my class.on the shoulder and signaled to her that she should get up and give me her seat..
My mother was mortified by my actions, and more shocked when the little girl got up and moved to a back row.
I must have had a secret, bossiness that my mom never saw. At home I was Mary’s little sister and not a demanding child. She saw, at the library, that I was not all I appeared to be.
I probably got first choice on books too...but my mom never told that part of the story. Just that I went to the library, and I OWNED IT. Still makes me laugh today to think of my mom telling that story over and over when people told her I was a sweet, kind child. They never would have known without the library story.

First story

Jan 21 2019

When I was in grade school I started writing. My memory has me older than six and younger than ten when I wrote my first short story.  Remember it today, because it cemented two things.
First, words were my life. They opened my soul yet hid my emotions. They could reveal and disguise. They could build or destroy. But most of all, they are necessary to be me.
Second. I have always loved a good pun.
You have to know the old folk song “ The Old Grey Mare” to see what I mean.
My story was about the leader of a town who had a daughter. He was always cranky and rude. One day something happened that changed his heart and the last line of my story was... “ The old grey Mayor...he ain’t what he used to be,”
So I am not corny and silly just as an adult. I have always been this annoying.

Mary Jo

Jan 20, 2019

I am not the best friend, because I always had sisters. I embrace people in the moment and love their company, but I respect their right to move on and to have better friends than me. There is one person though, that I am not related to but who enriched my whole life.

My first friend in school, that I remember, is Mary Jo. We were somehow joined at the hip for all of grade school and went to the same high schools as well.
I remember walking to her home and playing all day. She was an only child when we met.  I was the youngest of two girls. In the end she had two younger brothers and I ended up two younger sisters and one brother, so our homes remained totally different.

After high school, we went our separate ways. I joined the work force and went to night classes as it pleased me. She went to college, becoming a physical therapist. I receive birthday and Christmas cards from her every year. I am not that consistent.
Mary Jo was always the kind one. She was smart and pleasant and gentle. I was the one fighting to be funny and I was bossy and clumsy. I remember one year we had identical coats and from behind we looked like twins. Her aunt would see us in church and not know who was who as we sat together in our class pews. She said we even wiggled the same way.
Mary Jo has two sons and grandchildren that she dotes on. We still stay in touch, her more than me. She is a nurturer. She sews beautiful toys and outfits for her grandchildren, including masterful Halloween costumes. Her heart broke after her husband lost a battle with cancer. She is a young widow, my age, and has never wallowed in grief. Her posts and contacts express her sadness, but still highlight the joy and satisfaction she has received from her family and friends.
I may not be the greatest person, but God still keeps great people in my life. People like Mary Jo. I am indeed blessed because of her.

i don’t feel good!

Jan 19, 2019

Ok, because I am feeling under the weather, you get my memories of childhood illness.
Not the yucky part, just the happening.

Being sick meant warm blankets, plenty of rest and special attention from mom. I don’t remember being sick often, or having sickness be a horrible thing, except for the remedies. Complain about an upset stomach and you had two choices...warm milk with melted butter (horrible) or warm 7-Up, with the instructions to “drink it while it is fizzy.” To this day I can’t drink 7-Up without thinking of throwing up.
I do remember that if I was sick, Mary had either been sick right before me or would be right after. We shared a room and toys and time, so also health. Mary had severe sore throats so we both had our tonsils removed. I got the mumps one week and Mary the next. Measles, chicken pox, and the rest ... we did it like tag team wrestlers. I feel better so “tag...you’re it!”My poor mother had to be a nurse consecutively till we both healed. Poor mom. When I see parents today with more than one young child I hope they have the love and grace my mom did to get us through it.

I don’t relish illness, but the warmth of healing will always be what I remember.

One car

Jan 18, 2019

As previously stated, mom worked at a place called Globe Union, second shift. It was probably about a mile from our home. 

I can’t tell you how she got to work. That is not my memory. I think Mary and I would stay home for the short time between mom leaving for her work and Dad coming home from the post office. So maybe she would walk. 

I do remember that on some cold nights, we would take the car to Mom so she could drive home when she got home late. Dad would pack up his two girls and drive to Mom on her lunch break. Then we would walk home. Two girls and dad, bundled up for a walk back home. 

I remember a snowball fight, with all three of us running and laughing as we headed back. 

I remember many cold walks, with snowbanks all around and two little girls enjoying the brisk night air. 

We walked to and from school. We walked to see our friends. We walked to, well to everywhere.

The memory is of a family with only one car. We all cooperated with each other. When we had to walk, we did. When we had to share the car or our time, we did. We made sure that if one of us needed to be somewhere we all worked together to get him or her there. The best thing is that my memories have nothing to do with complaining of having to walk, but relishing the time we had together, whether walking or playing or any of a million other things. We made do. 

Break time

Jan 17, 2019

After 16 days, I thought I would talk about how it’s going.
First thing to clear up is why all my memories seem to be from really young me. Well the answer is that if you had 65 years of memories and 12 months to divvy them up, the logical thing is to break it into blocks. January should be mostly memories of my time on 28th street in Milwaukee.
Second thing to clear up is why my memory blogs are not all nostalgic and introspective. Cuz that is not the way my brain works. When I remember something funny, I will tell you. When I remember something topical, I will tell you. When I remember something deep or beautiful or touching, I will tell you. When I remember why I walked into that room... well, that’s pretty much something I will tell me when I figure it out.
Third point is that if anyone has a pool going as to how long I will keep this up, let me know. Based on my past blogging this is already a record. And I can be bribed to miss a day it your number is coming up.
So if you are an integral part of my life, remember when you and I met and look for your special appearances when my blogs cross that timeline.

Break is over... tomorrow’s memory will be back to young me.

playing

Jan 16, 2019

Televisions were in most but not all homes. The shows were limited and no one watched all night like we do today. So what we watched at night we used during the day we inspire our play. After westerns like Maverick, Sugarfoot and  Cheyenne, we would roam the range the next day. We had felt cowboy hats and the swingset swings and glider would double for horses. At Mom‘s parents house, we would play 77 Sunset Strip, using grandpa’s stand up radio as a switchboard and communication device. I heard that after we would leave, Grandpa would complain that those darned kids changed all his stations again.
We would make our front porch into a pirate ship, boarding it by climbing over the railings, walking the plank to the deep recesses of the ocean below...ok it was just the lawn, but it seemed pretty scary when jumping down.
We saw variety shows and would do skits and play act, with old blankets for curtains. We all had our share of old clothes, including ball gowns and accessories to use for costuming and dress up.
At one point, Mary and I decided to be tree doctors and would peel the bark off the lilac bush in the yard and cover it with water and leaves to heal... I believe we killed the bush. That never happened on tv.
There was hopscotch, red rover and sneak up.
Usually we had to be home and inside when the street lights went on. On the rare occasion that we were out after dark, we played hide and go seek or night time tag.
We rode our bikes and roller skated. We walked to friends’  houses and back again. We giggled and told stories. We read books, played games and did jigsaw puzzles.

Young people today wonder what we did before video games and the internet. We lived! Oh, we lived  like kids today can only imagine.

Telephones

Jan 15, 2019

Well of course, at my age I have seen many phones. Our first phone was a black, dial phone, weighed a ton and sat on a desk. It was a “party line” where you shared the line with another person. When you needed to make a call, you slowly raised the receiver and listened. If there was a dial tone, the line was free. If you heard voices, you were supposed to politely and quietly hang up the phone till the line was clear.
Once we got a private line, things were better. UPtown 37865 was our number. My aunt was EVergreen 35602. Dial the letters. UPtown is 87...EVergreen is 38... and there was HIlltop, 44... HOpkins, 46...and it went on. We started telling people the words, then advanced to all numbers.
Now phones changed too. They became lighter and a princess phone was designed and was available in colors. Then we went to push button phones, wall phones, novelty phones and cordless.
Suddenly homes had multiple phones, in different rooms.
Imagine life where you had to find a phone to use that was not in your purse or pocket.
Imagine a world where you could put a dime, then quarter, then whatever, in a coin slot and dial the phone. If you didn’t have a coin, you would dial zero and get an actual person to place your call and collect the fee from the recipient.
Phones...operators...caller assistance/information; walls, desktop, cordless and finally mobile.
Phones and communications have changed often in my life. But we still need to touch base with each other. That has not changed and never will.

Ice cream

Jan 14, 2019

No, not the store bought kind. Does any one remember old fashioned hand churned ice cream?
The machine was a wooden bucket with a metal canister inside and a bar on top that had a handle for cranking. There were paddles in the canister to keep the contents moving.
You put the ice cream mixture in the canister, then covered and inserted it in the bucket. You would pack, broken pieces of around it and salt...like sidewalk salt. I don’t know the science, just that it made ice cream.
Put on the cover and start cranking. The paddles would revolve and the mixture would freeze against the inside of the canister. Add more ice, more salt, and soon you would feel resistance and know the mixture was hardening. And your arms would be tired from constant revolving motion. You never did it alone because once you started churning, you could not stop. The person who was working with you would actually turn a few times with you so you could let go of handle till your turn to turn came up again.
It was difficult and tiring, but great fun. I don’t know if the ice cream was the best because of the work involved in making it or because it was really the best, but it doesn’t matter. It was the best because in my memory, there was none better.

Spaghetti

Jan 13, 2019

For as far back as I remember, we had a garden. Although my grandma had roses, my mom was not into flowers. She planted tomatoes and peppers and  green onions. She also had marigolds. They don’t  attract bugs and pretty much take care of themselves. I find they make you look like a gardener. Which, like my mom, I am not.
Back to spaghetti. When we harvested the tomatoes, mom made homemade chili, which she froze, and spaghetti sauce. I remember blanching the tomatoes to make peeling easier, cutting and crushing them and watching mom add the spices and slow simmer the sauce till it was ready to cool and put in containers for freezing.
She would make tons of meatballs and divide them up so that they could freeze in the sauce, gaining flavor and the richness of the sauce.
There was one problem that I didn’t know about till my mom died and I inherited her cookbooks. Mom didn’t use any spice in her sauce except garlic powder, salt and pepper. The recipe she used had oregano, basil and thyme in the sauce/meatball recipe.
I really don’t remember mom using any spice except salt, pepper and garlic. As far as herbs went, parsley was the flake of choice.
 Ow, My dad and I took gourmet cooking classes together and learned all about spices so I am comfortable with them. Dad and I talked cooking and food. We discussed many fancy and wonderful dishes.

But here’s the truth. I have made mom’s spaghetti with all the spices and it is a delicious and tasty recipe. But in my heart, I still remember the simply spiced, homemade sweet tomato sauce that mom made for us. That is the sauce worth writing about.

Parties

Jan 12, 2019

I love parties. I love seeing people have fun and will do my best to make it happen. I like events with many people and fancy food and games and fun.What I don’t like is being the center of attention.
This strikes me as odd because I do like to be noticed, but this party thing where I have to let everyone have a part of me just doesn’t work.
When I turned 6, my parents threw me a birthday party. All my friends in school were there. At that time, we lived in a lower flat, owned by my father’s parents. Grandpa and grandma lived upstairs.

After  the presents and food, when we were all playing games, I walked upstairs to sit with Grandpa. He was a sickly man and I loved to sit wit him and rub his back. Imagine my mother’s face when she walked into the living room to see how things were going and all my girlfriends were there, but I wasn’t. Imagine my surprise when she came upstairs and scolded me for leaving the party. To this day I don’t see why she cared as it appeared the party went on in my absence.

So I don’t throw myself birthday parties. But invite me to yours, and I will have a great time!
I love parties!

Roller Skates

Jan 11, 2019

My mom worked at a company called Globe Union, and one of their products was roller skates.
These were not leather boots with a wheel base attached to the bottom, not cool like a roller blade or hot like the kids today have with wheels actually imbedded into their sports shoes.
Ours were metal bases with metal wheels, adjustable to fit many different lengths and widths, sized with a twist of a metal key. Twist the screw by the toe and the grip tightened to grab the front of your shoe. Twist the screw under, and you can make your skates longer or shorter.
When Christmas came around, it was a good day if we got shiny new skates. With extra keys too, because those stupid things got lost all the time. We didn’t want a white Christmas because if sidewalks were clear you could skate while on Christmas vacation.
It was simple and healthy fun. The skates weighed more than shoes and the higher you lifted your feet to propel yourself the more exercise your legs got.
Sidewalk skating  also improved your mental awareness. Why you ask?
Because in order to really skate, you had to know and remember every bump, crack and shifting in the concrete walkway. If you were not on top of it or got distracted, your knees would pay the price.
Next time you see me, please don’t look at my knees.

Capitol Court

Jan 10, 2019

Capitol Court was an outdoor mall in Milwaukee. It entertained a TA Chapman’s and Schusters...then Gimbels-Schuster and finally just Gimbels. There were many other shops and every year they would set up Santa’s workshop, called the Kooky Cookie House, where you could meet with the happy gift giver and get a real gingerbread cookie. For Chrismas, they constructed a huge tree and we would go out in the cold to see it lit.
As part of the Christmas celebrations, The mall would have a secret shopper program where people were hired to walk up to the shoppers in the open areas and give them surprise gifts.
One year Mary Beth got a gift... my mom got a gift.. only I was giftless. My mother knew I was just being a pouty little girl, but she also wanted me to feel as important as she and Mary, so she packed me into the car after we got home and walked me around the mall till the secret shopper approached me with a gift.
I was thrilled.
Looking back, there was no reason for her to do this except that she wanted me happy. I think that as the younger sister of two girls, she knew what it felt to be overlooked because your older sister was prettier...or kinder...or smarter. I think she raised MaryBeth and I as equals because she was  compared to her sister and didn’t want us to have the any resentful feelings towards each other.
It seems silly I guess. I respect and love my older sister because my mom let us be ourselves and at the same time, part of a team.
I just recently figured out that Mom probably gave up a great part of herself to become our mom and dad’s wife. As we all aged, she became independent of those titles and broke the mold. As a result the memories she created for me will live as long as I do.
And the sweetest was our trip to Capitol Court.

Sledding

January 9, 2019

Close your eyes and think of those cold winter days when you were young. It’s not too hard today where the wind chill puts the degrees into the single digits. But you are young, and there is snow everywhere, and no school. You eat breakfast and instead of lolling in front of the tv, you put on warm clothes, snow pants, a winter coat, boots, scarf, hat and mittens and run outside.
Your sled, saucer or toboggan is waiting and you join all the other kids for Winter fun. On a normal day, you find the largest snowbank in the neighborhood and take turns sliding down. Sometimes it was four or five feet high.
But there are those rare days where your parents take you to the local park where the hills are massive and so many kids slid down already that the surface is hard and shiny and slippery. You set your ride down, get on and kick off. It’s like flying...especially when you hit those bumps and fly up and sometimes off. Your face burns from the cold, your fingers tingle with frostbite and you can’t even feel your toes...so you pick up your flying carpet and drag yourself back up the hill and do it again; and again; and again.
When you are done you are cold and tired and ready for the warmth of home, homemade hot cocoa (not instant but the stove cooked, constantly stirred kind) and time to talk and recount the excitement of your day on the hill.
I still think of those days when I look down the embankments on roads or the highway. I still remember how my teeth and face hurt from too much cold and too much laughter. Even today, when I am outside in the bitter cold, I have pain in my fingers and toes from not knowing when to come in when I was younger. And as I think about those days I know one thing.
 It was worth it!

Church

January 8, 2019

I was raised Catholic so many of my memories revolve around church. We attended early mass every Sunday, in dresses and shiny shoes...pretty hats and on high holidays, white gloves.
I worship in a different church now, but I have fond memories of services of my youth. Even now, when I attend a Catholic wedding or funeral, I am touched by the ceremony. People make fun of it, but every act means something. The incense, the blessed water, the standing or kneeling or sitting, the sign of the cross and genuflecting... it is not subservient or silly, but respectful in acknowledgement of our smallness and God’s greatness.
That said... I remember when someone accidentally put a hot coal in the incense box and while we worshipped clouds of sweet smelling smoke wafted in from the prep room behind the altar. Never saw ushers move that fast before.
I remember Baptism ceremonies in the front of the church using a crystal bowl that looked more like a punch bowl than a religious device. When asked “why do you use a punch bowl” I responded, “because people thought a beer pitcher was crass.”
I remember first communions with lines of angels processing forward; confirmations with the youth of the church affirming their faith; weddings of hope; funerals of promise.
I remember which priest spoke well, which was quickest for confession, which was crankiest and which was friendliest. I remember Latin and not knowing what was being said, but you knew it was important because it sounded important.
We lit candles, sang hymns, responded to prayers in one great group. Church bored us, excited us and formed us. I am who I am today, in part, because of where I was on Sunday mornings.
I may not be the Catholic girl of my youth, but she is still in here...and I embrace her for the memories she made for me.

Figure skating

January 6, 2019

Step aside Dorothy Hamill; forget Nancy Kerrigan. They were nothing compared to the Pearson sisters in the winter.
The rain gutters on the house we lived in on 28th St dropped excess water. It made a huge puddle on the walkway between the front and rear doors. No one walked on that area because using the rear door led to the yard and garage and the front door led straight off the porch and to the street. So in the winter, the sunlight and melting snow created an ice rink of sorts that there was no use salting, because no one walked there.
However, you could run down the walk from the rear of the house, hit the ice with a well placed boot and gently glide three feet into the waiting snowbank. Yes, we switched feet, waved our arms blanketed in heavy coats and winter gear  and plopped like falling rocks, laughing and pretending we got perfect scores.
It was just imagination run wild. We thought we were in white skates, cute skirts and landing jumps like the pros.
In retrospect, it may seem pretty lame, but we didn’t spend our time in front of the computer or tv. We didn’t play interactive video games joining hundreds of people in make believe worlds. We went outside in the real world and created a different world no one else would share. You may not understand, but that’s ok. Because I do.

Turtles

January 6, 2019

Mom didn’t like animals in the house. No dogs, or cats, or even guinea pigs...a future memory on that one. So we could occasionally have a goldfish if we won it at the church fair or a turtle.
Years ago you could have a little green turtle, about the size of an Oreo. We had one or two at any given time. They lived in a plastic pan that you filled with water, and there was an island in the center that the turtle could go up on to dry. It even had a snap on palm tree so that the turtle felt tropical.
When you have toddlers in a house and accessible turtles, things can get ugly. I remember my brother, at the age of two or three being fascinated by our green buddies. On more than one occasion he had to be told to leave them alone.
The last turtle incident that I remember was when he decided they could fly and would launch them down the hallway. It wasn’t odd to look up at your bedroom door to see a turtle fly past.
Oddly, I don’t have many turtle memories after that...as if just disappeared.
Maybe mom was more of an animal lover than we thought.

Preschool

January 5, 2019

 My first school memory is library school. I was four and my sister Mary had been taken from me and deposited in St. Agnes grade school kindergarten. My mother said it was normal, but I know Mary was taken against her will.
To keep me from sulking and driving her crazy, Mom started taking me to library school.  The children went to a room, sat on the floor and while our parents sat outside, someone would read to us. And then we could take a book home till the next session, sometimes the book we had just heard. I had a terrific memory and could see the words of the story, remembering what was said and how it sounded. This is how I learned to read.
Back in the day, you didn’t learn to read till first grade, so a four year old who could read was a novelty.
I also developed a love of books. They became my friends when I was alone as well as my tool for learning.
Some kids are forced to learn, and some are not ready. I chose to learn, and have never stopped.

Cookies

January 4, 2019

Of course it’s another food memory. Who doesn’t get a whiff of nostalgia when they smell baking bread, hear sizzling steak or taste home made fudge? Or whatever your memory is.
Mom would bake cookies almost every Saturday. Peanut butter, imprinted with crossed fork tines and chocolate chip with walnuts.
After cooling they were placed in a large Tupperware container, divided with foil- one side peanut butter and one choc chip.
For Christmas, they were made small, bite sized, for putting on a cookie tray with about fifteen other kinds that mom made. There were meringues, tinted pink and light green, thumbprint, three or four kinds of refrigerator cookies, including pinwheels; cookies shaped like bells (relatively easy to make) and candy canes; everyone’s favorite and some no one would eat, but they were tradition...like anise balls that had the consistency of rocks and were only good if soaked in coffee. As a child, I was not allowed to drink coffee, so they were inedible to me.
It was awesome.
I choose to never forget cookies, and to preserve that memory, I will eat as many as I can.

So, my theory is that as long as there are cookies, I will not get Alzheimer’s. (We will discuss logic on a future entry)

Never alone

Jan 3 2019

When I was born, my sister Mary Beth was a little over a year old. As a result, all my memories from childhood involve two people.
Imagine never being alone, or lonely, or thinking you didn’t have a friend. We were raised as if we were twins. But we were so different. Mary was the pretty one, I was cute. She had gentle softness, I had round, rosy cheeks that would have made Santa Claus jealous. Other than that, Mom made sure that we were equal in our opportunities, possessions and love.
Poor Mary had to have a little sister who thought she was the same age.
But for this reason, all my memories can be shared. We went to the same events, can tell the same stories and even shared some of the same classes in school.
So my memory here is that I have someone who can remember with me what I am sharing.
If you don’t have that one person who can share your memories, I feel sorry for you. Having a memory partner really makes the memories sweeter...and keeps you from lying.

Doughnuts!

January 2, 2019

With a mailman for a father, his off days were varied with every fifth week resulting in a three day weekend. On some of those Saturdays we would see mom making yeast dough and dad slowly melting shortening to use as a deep fry oil. We knew it was doughnut day.
Hours spent in the kitchen with mom making the dough and dad doing the frying. Mary Beth and I would wait for our part. We would roll the warm donuts in sugar before placing on cooling racks, put in a spoonful of grape jam for the jelly donuts before sugaring, or dipping in mom’s glaze and hanging over chop sticks, balanced on large jello boxes to drip the excess glaze onto waxed paper.
To this day I think of donuts whenever I see chop sticks.
This memory is triggered by sight, smell, and taste. Better yet, it is an emotional memory. It is a time where I saw a family working, laughing and loving together. A memory of us all spending time for a common goal.
I hope many people can find a memory with as much satisfaction for them as this is for me,