Category Archives: Childhood

Grateful for the Moon and Other Bright Spots

Grateful for the Moon and Other Bright Spots

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Over the years, as a hobby, I’ve worked with a few people to record, transcribe, and shape their life stories into written narratives to pass along to kids and grandkids. And now I’m beginning to do so as another one of my little random freelance gigs.

During these sessions, I ask questions that I hope will trigger rich memories as we move through each phase of life, from childhood to the twilight years.

I’m impressed by how much people remember. The color of a bedspread. A burn on a coffee table. The sound of an old friend’s laugh. A conversation while riding a ski lift.

But what I’m moved by even more is the degree of gratitude that seeps out from some people as they look back on their moments.

Gratitude for family. Gratitude for friends. Gratitude for trials and tribulations. Gratitude for freedom. Gratitude for hotdogs and beans.

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A Midlife Girl and Her Old Music Box

A Midlife Girl and Her Old Music Box

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“Everything comes off and the gown opens in the back,” says the spunky LPN named Sheila on her way out the door.

“Got it!” I say.

Alone in the sparse room, silence fills the air. I’m grateful for the gown-wearing instructions. I can never remember the exact protocol, and maybe the rules have changed since my last visit.

I’m ashamed to admit my last physical was three years ago. I have a bad habit of placing my own health and well-being on the back burner, but I’ve pledged to be more proactive going forward.

Looking down at the cold tile floor, I decide that by “everything” Sheila does not mean socks.

I deeply regret my decision to wear black socks that go up to my calf. They made sense this morning with my black jeans. But paired with the light blue robe, I look like I’m on my way to the kitchen for a late-night bologna sandwich.

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Trying to Make SCENTS of It All

Trying to Make SCENTS of It All

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Although our five senses are best when in sync, research shows smell has the leading edge on memory recollection.

For me, born and raised in Minnesota, some of the most powerful triggers are seasonal scents. Fishy lake water. The earthiness of dried leaves and bonfires. Crisp falling snow. Soil after a light rain.

Cedar is another sure trigger. On the rare occasion I get a whiff of it, I’m reminded of a walk-in closet in the basement of my childhood home.

There was a long white string hanging from the ceiling light fixture. When you pulled it, a plethora of boxes, shelves, and racks loaded with all kinds of old relics, including a few of my mom’s old purses, shoes, and dresses sparkled like a treasure trove.

Then there’s bus diesel! A quick pass by those toxic fumes, and I’m all over the map.

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Roll Call

Roll Call

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I’ll never forget roll call on that first day of 9th grade English class.

Immediately after my balding, bearded, charismatic teacher in rounded spectacles—whom I’ll refer to as Mr. G—read my name from the roster, and I meekly said, “here,” he looked up at me, walked toward my desk located five rows back along the wall, and announced, “Class, I’d like you all to meet the younger sister of one of my favorite students.”

Yep, that was my debut into English class that first year of high school.

Mr. G was one of those teachers you wanted to please. His big, Carpe Diem personality towered over his petite physical stature. If he saw something special in you, a kernel of greatness—well, that was really something.

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After the Snowflakes Settle

After the Snowflakes Settle

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Some of our children’s memories will sparkle and glisten while others fade. I like to imagine the sparkling ones as scenes in a snow globe that come into clear view after it’s shaken and the snowflakes settle.

This morning, a scene of me as a young girl in long pigtails sitting on the front doorstep of a red brick house playing jacks appeared. As long as I had my little cloth pouch with ten six-pronged jacks and a rubber bouncy ball in my pocket, I never had reason to be bored.

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“Stay True” Little Chalky, Corn-syrupy Affirmations

“Stay True” Little Chalky, Corn-syrupy Affirmations

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A lot of us are feeling the winter doldrums in full force right now.

Part of it is the cold weather and lack of sun.

Part of it, since I’m updating this post for 2017, is post-election anxiety.

And another part, for me anyway, a girl who made her debut into this crazy world during the stark of a Minnesota winter, is the realization I’m a year older again. If I stand on my tippy toes, I can peer into the other side of the half-century mark.

For the past few years, between my late January birthday and Valentine’s Day, my moods swing back and forth as though I’m in the front seat of Steel Venom, that U-shaped inverted roller coaster at Valleyfair my kids coaxed me into riding on a couple years ago.

All I can say when I feel this way is . . . thank goodness for conversation hearts.

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Hmmmmmm (a silly, little grammar lesson)

Hmmmmmm (a silly, little grammar lesson)

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“Mommy, look, the sky is all blue and white,” my first-born says a decade ago while buckled in her booster seat in the back of the car on the way to preschool.

I glance in the rear-view mirror and see her stretching her neck to see more sky, the sun splashing on her little brunette bob haircut that frames her face like Dora the Explorer, her favorite back then.

“Yeah, those clouds sure are fluffy aren’t they? I wish I could have one as my pillow,” I say.

“Me, too,” she says.

“How do you think we might get one?” I ask.

“Hmmmmmm. I think I might need my stool,” she says.

“Hmmmmmm. I think so, too. I say.

Apparently the latest New Year’s trend is to choose a word of the year instead of resolutions that set us up for failure. So I’ve decided—in  honor of that inquisitive little moment of infinite possibilities lodged in my memories and recorded in my journal—that my word of the year is going to be Hmmmmmm.

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