Early one morning, Ken accompanied a fishing buddy running the pole lines that had been set overnight along the bank of the Sugar River. Three catfish had been caught. My husband not only enjoyed his friend’s company, it brought to mind the youngster he’d been doing the same thing with his dad.
Memory is a marvelous thing. It allows us to spend a few minutes with someone who is no longer a part of our life. For us who are older, it can make us a child, a teenager or a young adult for a bit.
When I saw a PBS rerun of Lawrence Welk’s music program, I recalled a teenage me doing a polka with my friend, Trude, at the Wigwam, a rustic country dancehall situated just north of the Wisconsin line.
I came across a deck of cards laying on a closet shelf and recalled the seven women who made up my bridge club when our children were growing up. Snow or rain was rarely severe enough to cancel a monthly meeting at a member’s house. We were all bogged down with family responsibilities and looked forward to that night out with the girls.
Not all memories are pleasant, but that’s life. “Happily, ever after” happens only in fairy tales. A glimpse of Jack Klugman in an old film reminded me of taking our brain-damaged, teenage daughter, Linda, to a a neurologist in the hope of finding some answers for her problems. Instead, the doctor remarked, “If anything happens to that little girl, an autopsy would certainly be interesting.”
When I returned home, Ken asked, “What did you find out?”
By then, I had built up a head of steam and responded, “He referred me to Quincy!” At that time, Klugman was portraying Quincy, M.E., on TV. That was the end of our ‘seeking professional help.’
What are your favorite memories?