This is the next-to-last day of our Memory Lane Contest. Anyone can enter, as often as you like: just post your memories here.
Here’s one from me.
Many years ago, my Grammie visited her folks in the Pennsylvania hills. I went, too.
How wonderful that was! Everybody–three generations, at least–lived in this enormous, rambling old house. There was always someone available to play checkers, stroll down to the brook, or shoot at targets with slingshots. We stayed for a week; and I’m sure I missed seeing large sections of the house.
It was like being in a Grandma Moses painting. No other experience in all my life was quite like it.
And now it’s your turn, folks.
That would be quite an experience.
Were I blessed to be the head of a family, in the restitution of all things, my desire would be to have a home which would serve as a headquarters for an extended family to visit. Nothing opulent or fancy, but just a place that family can gather.
Some years back, I visited a cousin who had a large family. His parents were visiting at the same time so I drove out with my mother along for the ride. It was much like you described, with family everywhere and I got to meet kinfolk I had never met before. There was always something to do, or somewhere to go, even though we were actually in a tiny town, quite isolated from civilization. The love and goodwill of family made it memorable.
Over the years, families have gotten smaller and while children were an economic asset in the agricultural era, they are no longer as desired in our times, so large family gatherings are less common now, than they used to be. God’s very first commandment was to become many, and fill the earth, but that seems all but forgotten, these days.
My older sister and my younger brother and I were all born in Los Angeles, but later lived in Orange County for most of our youth. We went often to a couple’s large two-storied house in Los Angeles across the street from the L.A. Coliseum. I remember my sister loved to walk down their beautiful stairway pretending she was getting married. She and my brother were named after this couple who were such good friends with my parents. P.S. My sister got married at 17, one week after high school, and their marriage lasted for 58 years until my brother-in-law died. P.P.S. The house had a toilet tank above the toilet with a cord to pull like they had in “The Godfather” movie.
My Grammie’s first house had a toilet like that. I was just a little kid; I thought her bathroom was something like a palace.
I remember one time my family and I went to the country for vacation, as we always do. One day we went for a walk along the road—all of us, dad, mom, grandpa, grandma, and my little sister. We walked seven kilometers and went quite far! It was a very hot day, and we hadn’t taken much water with us to drink. But it was so fun! I loved being able to see the sky so blue, the hills and mountains in the distance, birds of all kinds, and cows and goats. We also picked some mangoes and found beautiful flowers along the way. It was such a funny day.
Some of these memories, you read them and it’s like you’re there. I was hoping that would happen.
Yes! They are so fascinating and pleasant to remember. Every memory is always so special.
My first new car was a ‘73, olive-green, four-speed, Mustang II Ghia, with impressive options: a leather-wrapped steering wheel, steel-belted radial tires, and an eight-track tape player, so I could enjoy Buddy Holly every time I got behind the wheel. It also came with car payments. From the moment I first drove this beauty, I wondered, how fast will it go? I found out a few months later. Disappointingly, it never got near the top end of the speedometer’s 120 mph calibration. A measly 98 mph pedal to the metal, on a flat, two-mile stretch that runs through Wisconsin’s Horicon Marsh, was all it could muster.
Probably my best memory is the night I became a Christian.
At age 20 I was converted and became a true, born-again Christian. My epic experience happened late one Sunday night. Though service was over I decided to linger. When I knelt and prayed, great conviction of sin came upon me, and I wept and cried out to God for forgiveness. Just then, what apostle Peter described as “joy unspeakable and full of glory” filled my heart and soul for two whole hours. To complete my new birth, as Scripture teaches, I was baptized. Thinking of that event, such exultation I never knew before or since. But every now and then, touches of that incredible joy and peace have returned to lift my spirit to the heavens.
All our memories are not good ones. These memories (again from my book) took place right after my divorce became final.
Memories I Took with Me
The house Sue and I shared for 17 years had to be put on the market. Sue had already moved all her belongings out, and I had finished loading up the trailer with the rest of my things. I made one last round through the empty rooms, making sure I was not leaving anything behind. I finished my inspection and went into what had been our children’s bedroom and paused for a while, pondering the years our family had spent in that home. I didn’t leave anything physical behind, but what I took with me was vastly more than tables, chairs, beds, or dressers.
I wept as I gathered together the seventeen years of memories, joys, pains, and blessings which occurred under that roof. This was the home where we brought our firstborn. Nathan, a premature baby, spent the first nineteen days of life in the intensive care unit. He wasn’t even four pounds when we brought him home. The carpet in the hallway had felt the steps of two loving parents attempting to comfort their baby, night after night, for he had ear infection after ear infection, which needed a number of operations to resolve.
The walls in each room, lovingly decorated by my wife, were now bare, replaced with shadowed outlines where pictures once hung, and small nail holes where shelves had brimmed with figurines, ornaments, and collectibles. There were dents in the carpet where the fifty-five-gallon fish tank had sat, and where the couch, chairs, and other furniture had been arranged in each room.
The recollection of the meals—pot roasts for dinner, and pancakes for breakfast—seemed to linger as aromas in the kitchen; words of love seemed to float around; and the laughter of our boys, Nathan and Benjamin, still seemed to echo through the empty rooms.
Wonderful memories emerged, like the satisfaction I felt when I finished remodeling our bathroom. No stonemason could have done a better or more careful job than I did. I enjoyed that toil immensely. Other projects crossed my mind: the sandbox I built for Nathan and Benjamin; the chimney I rebuilt; the study I constructed in the basement. Our lives were further enriched by the Bible studies taught in our living room; the cherished friends we entertained; our numerous dogs and cats; and the aviaries filled with chirping finches that dwelt with us through the years.
One of those four-legged beasts arrived without notice. Sue had returned from an errand, and loudly proclaimed as she entered the house, “I think I did something stupid.” I had been napping in our bedroom, but clearly heard what she said. I was still groggy when something brown and warm was plopped onto my chest. I was not amused.
“We can’t keep it, take him back,” I said, as his tail thumped against my stomach and those sad eyes stared pleadingly into mine.
“I can’t take him back, there is a no refund policy,” Beseechingly, she stated, “Can’t we keep him overnight and return him tomorrow?”
He never left. Leo and I formed a strong bond during his lifetime. I still miss him, and it’s been 40 years since he passed.
I prefer to concentrate on memories that make me happy… because the other kind come unbidden, whether I want them or not. And there are plenty of them.
But memories also serve to heal fresh wounds.
I do prefer the good; nevertheless, it’s the good and bad events, those memories that make us what we are today. And through the bad, many things will be learned, and may be beneficial, and turn out for the best in the end. Don’t forget, God knows what we need.
My sister and I have always loved making recipes with our grandma. I remember that once, dad had gone to the supermarket and bought ingredients for us to make a cake—a chocolate cake! It was so fun! But I also remember that it wasn’t just any chocolate cake. My grandma took some spices she had in the cupboard to make the cake special. She added cinnamon and flaxseed. It was certainly one of the tastiest cakes we’ve ever made together.
I also remember when Grandpa made us a wooden dollhouse. He spent weeks working in that little house. I remember that I had drawn it on paper, and he did exactly what I wanted. I remember that one day, when I got home after school, Grandpa had brought the dollhouse, completely ready. It was such a surprise, and I was so happy!
Nothing can replace your grandma and grandpa.