This time of isolation has been trying on the best of us...meaning me. This time of isolation has been tough on me. When it was first announced I thought to myself, "Cool! I now have an excuse for not going anywhere or talking to anybody!" How was I to know how old it would get? Now I know...
I've tried to come up with constructive activities and for a while Debbie and I used our time wisely catching up on projects in our yard. You know, like removing the massive back flowerbed, bringing in dirt and sod to place. Things like building retaining walls and raising the drop off at the back of our property so I don't fall anymore. Typical stuff any healthy thirty-something could easily handle. It's a bit harder for us sixty, soon to be seventy-somethings. We weren't able to finish before the hot weather set in so now we can look out every day and be reminded of our failures and procrastinations. Oh well.
I also thought this would be a great time to spend working on unfinished projects in my wood shop. This reminded me of another procrastination of mine. Every summer I promise myself I will add air-conditioning to my shop before the next summer. Yeah right, however I did make sure I got the heater bought before next winter. I got it in June. It's really in the way now. I can't work out there. It's too hot. I tried to go out early one morning to work and had to come back in. It's about this time every year I begin to hate Texas.
Every dedicated writer I know is thrilled to have this uninterrupted time to spend churning out great stories, poems, articles....I had to make myself come in here this morning to write. I don't know why. I love to write. I just don't have anything to say. The "pandemic" we're enduring now did make me think of the old days and how easy it was to live and how hard it was to catch each others' germs. As soon as I thought about this a flood of memories came to me. Acting fast, I grabbed my laptop, opened it, uh...checked e-mail, looked at Facebook for a few minutes, ran through the few scales I can remember on my trumpet, strummed my guitar til my fingers hurt and tried once again to play Dueling Banjos on my banjo. I realized I hadn't played my blues harmonica for a while because it makes me sad so I looked around for it, remembered I had hidden it from my grandson, Carter, and after searching realized I hid it from myself as well. I guess I should write.
Actually, this particular memory came to me the other day as I passed the beautiful Colleyville sports complex a mile or so from our house. We've gone there over the years to watch our grandkids make us proud but now they sit empty. It's a sad thing to see. I thought back on the city ball parks we had down the street from us while growing up in Hurst. They were never empty. If an organized game wasn't going on, there would be a pick up game in process, or maybe a golfer or two would be practicing their drive in one of the outfields. During little league season all of us five kids would follow mama down to the ball park in the evenings to watch a game or two. It is a wonderful memory. Just about everyone knew the person sitting next to them and most of the kids playing were friends from school, church, or the neighborhood. The ball parks ran along the creek that held so many memories for Glenn and me. If a game was boring we could wander down to the creek and catch crawdads or fish out coke bottles to turn in for two cents. This turned into a regular routine for us when we figured out some of our citizens were litter slobs and empty coke bottles were always plentiful. We would find enough for each of us to earn a nickle and carry them up to the snow cone stand / snack bar at the park. Five empty bottles would earn us each a snow cone, soft drink, or package of peanuts. Life was good.
I think back on those days. We never washed our hands after fishing around in the pond. We never washed our hands period from late May until early September. We were quick to share our goodies with our friends. No one was denied a bite or two of the snow cone. The soft drinks were passed to anyone needing a swig, and the peanuts were meant for everyone. I remember one day, the little brother of one of my friends had talked his mother into giving him a nickle for a snow cone. He had to have someone hold him up to the window to buy it and as he walked back down to the bleachers he grinned from ear to ear over his giant lime snow cone....until he tripped. It was heartbreaking to watch his face go from pure joy to surprise to horror as his big old snow cone hit the dirt. I couldn't stand it. My bottle fishing had been especially successful that night so I was flush. I jumped up with the plan of buying that little fella a new cone but as I got closer I realized his cone was still pretty much intact on the ground. I scooped up all I could with my pond encrusted fingers and patted the snow back into the paper cone for him. I wasn't able to wipe away the dirt clinging to it but I told him he could easily lick it clean. He was a happy boy and I felt like a saint. I get slightly nauseous now thinking back on the germs I handed him but as far as I know he survived.
I realize my good old days weren't everyones' good old day. History tells us there were some pretty grim things going on back then, but I truly hope everyone has their own bank of memories of "the good old days".
You are a hoot!
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