Memory Lane is Filled with Potholes

 

 

More and more I have been led to write more about my life, mainly for my granddaughter. I want her to know more about me and what things were like in a life that was not the easiest, but did include some wonderful things. For a while I wrote in a journal, but then realized that Lia can’t read cursive, so I stopped doing that. If I’m going to have to print words, I might as well do it in my blogs. I have always tended to focus on the negative, and want her to know that yes, there were good things about my past, and I did have happiness amongst the valleys. My grandparents lived with us while I was growing up, and it never occurred to me to ask what their lives were like growing up. I know a few plain facts, but that’s about it.

 

So I will begin the journey, going as far back as I can remember. I will try to focus on more of the positive stuff, and skim over the negative. Because there is always a balance. When I am honest with myself and start brooding on the negatives, I have to admit that amongst the rubble there were bright spots. Take hold of the bright spots! Cherish them!

 

So many times I have come back to the poem I wrote when my dad died. I know I have posted it more than once, but I will post it one last time here.

 

Choosing The Chains

 

Choosing the chains

     that weigh us down

Choosing the ties that bind

Packing the baggage

     we carry for life

Some of us traveling blind

 

The closer we get

     to the end of the trip

The heavier seems the load

We carry our burden

     and stumble along

The twisting and uneven road

 

The wise ones let go

     and let Christ take the weight

From their shoulders

     no longer bowed down

And continue the path,

     claiming freedom at last

Replacing the chains with a crown

 

                                 dljbinder2004

The Patio

 

She woke from an uneasy dream brought on by too many beers the night before. She was still on the patio bench in her evening clothes, but had fallen sideways. Someone had placed her light shawl over her bare legs. It was already hot, and would be even hotter later on. She vaguely remembered the young couple she’d met at the bar and had invited back to her patio to have more beer. The couple were gone, of course, but had left something under the ashtray on the table. It was a few American dollars and a note. It thanked her for an enjoyable evening and the money was to pay her back for some of the beer. It also had their email address.

 

After a cold shower she felt better. She still couldn’t remember the names of the couple. She thought maybe the man’s name was Barry, but couldn’t even guess at the woman’s name. The email address didn’t give much clue. It was Jampot27Z@gmail.com. By now she couldn’t even clearly remember what they looked like. Maybe she’d go back to the bar in the evening and see if she could find them. Maybe drink less this time. Maybe even think about going home. This wasn’t the vacation she thought it would be. Four days and all she’d done was sweat through the day and drink through the night.

 

She woke the next morning in the patio again, but this time she was on the floor. At least the tiles were nice and cool. She had zero recollection of the evening. No clue as to how many beers she’d had. No memory of meeting anyone, let along the young couple. As she lay there trying to muster the energy to get up, she watched a scorpion walk across her hand. When it was on the other side of the patio, she got up, showered, and started to pack.

 

 

OK…I’m Old! – Part 2

 

I LOVED playing with the ashtrays in cars! They were either on the backs of the front seat or in the arm rest. You could hid all sorts of little things in it. Tiny pieces of paper, candy wrappers, pennies…what fun…

 

 

We not only got Hawaiian Punch, but all sorts of different juices in the big cans. My favorite juice was strawberry/mango. Nothing like a big ol’ glass of pure sugar to start out the day!

 

 

EVERYONE remembers what these balls sounded like, smelled like, felt like when they hit you smack in the face while wearing glasses…and they came in different sizes. I loved playing with them at recess. Except when they hit me smack in the face while wearing glasses…the other kids seemed to enjoy doing that…

 

 

THESE WERE GOLD!!! When it was recess time, the girls would SWARM over to the box and grab these. I was never fast enough. I loved hopscotch, but could never score a marker. For some reason these had an actual name: hoppy taws. Don’t know why.

 

 

I was SO PROUD when I got my first library card for the county library. There was a little embossed metal square on the front with my name that they would stick in the machine to stamp my name on the record. If I was fast enough I could then press the metal onto my skin before the ink dried.

 

Random Thought:

As a kid, I used to talk into the fan to hear my robot voice.