Longing for the "good old days"

I just came home from a birthday party for one of my dear friends - her 70th! Wasn't it only yesterday that, when I went to a birthday party for a dear friend, he/she was 15? Where have the years gone? I was honored to share the table (the party was at a little tearoom in town) with a woman who has been my friend for over 50 years. Much of that time, we've been BEST friends. We were reminiscing about all the wonderful people who have left the stage that this present generation will never have the opportunity to know. Our Primary Sunday School teacher, Viva Laswell, who could keep all 40+ of her primary class spellbound with Bible stories. And all this without the aid of Powerpoint, DVDs or anything else new-fangled. She even took in stride when two of the little guys, Ronnie Kee and Gilbert Dickey, got up to sing their favorite Sunday School song and belted out, "Davey. Davey Crockett. King of the wild frontier . . " without missing a lick. My Intermediate Girls' teacher, who wasn't the best teacher I ever had. But she had a unique gift. She offered us certificates with big stick-on stars for memorizing various parts of the Bible -- the Ten Commandments, Books of the Bible, 23rd Psalm, Beatitudes and Lord's Prayer. Those are things I've never forgotten, and I've incorporated the memorization into my working with children as well. Most of our memories revolved around the elderly who have gone on, but there are some young ones, too. The young man I was raised with who stepped on a landmine in Vietnam and was killed. My "boyfriend" for many of my growing-up years who died lately of cancer. The 18-year-old friend who was killed in a motorcycle accident.

We all leave our mark. I'm sure those teachers I had as a kid wondered if they were impacting my life for good at all. But they were. And beyond that, they were piecing together a wonderful patchwork quilt for me that has literally made me who and what I am. I used to look forward, dreaming of what it would be like to grow up. Now I look backward, remembering how filled-to-the-brim my life has been. Looking back is what makes me excited about going forward. Life has been so good that I don't want to miss a second of what it still has to offer. There are definite advantages to aging, and one of those is remembering.

Forget what?

Today hubby had an unusual situation occur. This is the second time in his life it's happened, and the other time was possibly 10 years ago. Today, he was doing an a/c job with his friend when he totally forgot everything that had happened up to that time. The "situation" may have only lasted a few seconds or even a milli-second. He told his friend that he was having a problem, so they stopped their job and Bob sat down on the truck tailgate with him and rehearsed where they were, what they were doing, and what they had accomplished so far. For the next 30 minutes or so, he had to consciously think out each action before he performed it. Nothing came naturally. By the time he got home, he was fine. It's kind of like the little tape recorder in his brain erased a small sketch of time. He still can't remember his day in sequence, but we don't think it's a big thing. In fact, there are some things I would LIKE to forget.

There was a time in fourth grade (maybe it's why I remember fourth grade as one of the hardest grades of my school career) when we were doing "Br'er Rabbit and the Tar Baby". One of the guys in our class was the Tar Baby and I was Br'er Rabbit. I got my teacher's attention and told her - warned her, actually - that I needed to go to the bathroom reeeeeally badly. She insisted I could finish that particular scene before my exit. Well, I couldn't! The Tar Baby ended up with wet shoes and standing in a puddle, while I ran from the room in utter and total humiliation. Or what about the time Dad was out of work and we had to move to the country and live with my grandparents for a while. My sister and I had to attend the little country school there, and I felt like someone from outer space. I didn't fit anywhere. At least that's the way I saw it. My respite was the weekend, when I could tromp the woods and be the free spirit I longed to be. One particular Sunday, I devoured a whole bag of little green apples, in total disregard of the warning that it wasn't a good idea to be eating so many little green apples. The veracity of the warning didn't hit me right away. In fact, it didn't hit me until the next day, during the long, long bus ride home from school - bumping and jostling along those gravel roads. I became a Believer. I mean, I REALLY became a Believer! The second I stepped off that bus, I knew I couldn't wait an instant longer. I squatted right there and did my business with all the kids looking out the bus windows at me. Wow! I still wither just thinking about it. By the grace of God (literally!), that was our last day of school, so I never had to face most of those kids again.

So, while I'm sorry that a portion of my honey's day has vaporated into nothingness, I'm thinking that a failing memory might be good in some areas. There are definitely some things I would like to forget, but, then, what stories would I have to tell my grandchildren??

I stand corrected!

Have you ever received a piece of mail or invitation with your name spelled wrong? I have. And I don't like it! I'm a stickler for making sure words are spelled correctly before sending out a document (or posting a blog), but sometimes an error will slip right by me. A few weeks back, maybe even a couple months, I noticed in our Sunday church bulletin that they had spelled "worshipped" "worshiped." I let it pass, because I have a bit of a reputation for being TOO observant in such matters. Then it cropped up in the slide presentation that they do at the beginning of the service and on our church website -- all spelled with the one "p". I figured they had just copied and pasted, and thus the error. I even checked my trusty Webster's Dictionary (which, obviously, is from the Dark Ages), and it only showed it with the double "p". So, I e-mailed three or four of the young men at church that I knew had input in the technology side of things and pointed out the error of their ways. One of them got back to me and said that I was wrong. The accepted English spelling is with the single "p". The double "p" was the British spelling! Can you believe that? They CHANGED it and didn't even notify me or get my permission. Actually, when I checked the link he had e-mailed to me, it can be spelled either (is it ee' ther or i' ther?) way. I was dumbfounded, but, of course, humble enough to admit I had made an error. I'm afraid we've actually come to the point in our changing culture that even Mr. Webster can't be trusted anymore!