Dismemory

October 8, 2018 and fall is here in the form of an 85 degree day. A few leaves are scraping across the highway stirred by traffic wind. The sun shine is at angle that masks its summer intensity. Along the roads, scattered trees are in flames with bunches of leaves already red and gold.
Today I will attend calling hours for a friend from school and work. I remember his wry sense of humor. Never any meanness. Although I didn't see him often in recent years, he was always there and is now one more empty space in my heart. If we continue to grow, we will let other friends fill those places. What do we do when we are 95 and outlive our lifelong friends?  Does the heart shrink and wrinkle like our old bodies?

I have a new word today. Dismemory. Definition: an occurrence of remembering events that are not your own. Recall of someone's story but putting yourself as the main character.
 This happens as we age and fill our brains with family, friend and work stories. Hearing and telling over the years is saved as part of our history. As we recount an incident we fairly attribute it to the author. But as all the stories collide and overlap, the brain can pull that jumble into a new memory that lets us make it our own.

My grandmother told me stories about long gone family members which I have recorded on paper and internally. I am still able to separate them from myself. Over the years through genealogy I have found those stories common to distant cousins. We know Aunt Rainey by her love for jewelry and Great grandfather Brice as a Confederate soldier who had his last child at 76. But like the old telephone game, the audience adds bits and pieces to every telling until the stories disagree. Brice becomes a Union soldier because our family never fought for slavery and states rights. And it is not common for anyone to father a son at 76.
When do we trust the storyteller? And our own memory?

In my dad’s family, we are descended from Native Americans with the surname Sizemore. There is documented proof to my 3x great grandfather George who had 55 people claim him as their father. This is on the Internet. His father is referred to as George "All" Sizemore but no proof is recorded. Numerous stories exist of the Sizemore/NA connection. Occasionally a generous researcher will post a picture of that ancestor who lived before photography. We protest but the story sounds better than proof.
We need to listen to stories and decide if they are true.
In dismemory, the teller is convincing and believes what he is sharing. The author of the incident can question himself or the teller. Or just let it go. The story ends.

Dismemory is the sadness of lost thoughts and names when we can still fake a presence in the conversation by using random stories. It is the beginnings of Alzheimer's when real thoughts and instruction are tossed like the Yahtzee dice trying to find a match. You get what comes out of your cup. Sometimes you only roll 2 ones, a score low in points. That's when you call your sister Jan when her name is really Leslie. A laugh. A brush off. Soon you don't know Jan or Leslie. The phone becomes the remote and you watch the same channel all day until your daughter visits and explains once again how each works. You don't understand the difference because the phone no longer rings. Memories fade and wrinkle like our aging hearts. We do not care for things in life as we melt back to God from whence we came.

Changes and Endings

Changes and endings follow us through age. Marriage, divorce, children, grandchildren, death, and disease all work to stir our emotions. First love to loss, anger and hurt can lead us on different paths. Friendship and love guides through tough times and the wondrous moments.

Seeing the Grand Canyon was amazing. Stepping from the subway to see Rome finally was a dream I didn't know I had. The adoration for my grandchildren and their amazement in life leaves me breathless. Their selfless love for me has created new life and meaning. Friends of old reach out and new ones appear for support in aging. Everyday, flowers and the wind and butterflies soothe my heart in the goodness of the world. I speak with God daily knowing that he loves me and accepts me as I am. Younger life of wildness and hurt slip away as does time. Summer moons light the night in mystery without fear. And the sunlight moves me to feel life in this place I live.

For 14 years, I planned and led our Howard family reunion in Eastern Kentucky. The reunion began as a way to see family other than at funerals. In those early years, many family members attended. We renewed acquaintance with cousins from a childhood visiting my grandmother Maudie. She was the person who led us in love and to God. We were each her favorite. Grandmother was our connection between a family of six siblings and children. She also shared stories about her parents, grandparents and ancestors long gone. They live in our memory

We met new cousins and distant. Mother’s cousin Joe gave the best hugs and called me baby doll. He is always in my heart. His Sutton family attended for several years and we talked of the old folks. As the years went by new babies joined our family. We also lost family. That changed the dynamic of the reunion. Children were unable to visit because the loss was too hard to bear. Carl and Ruby Marshall were neighbors we knew after Maudie married Callie Joseph and lived at Burning Fork. They are both gone but their son Rick still comes to see us. We have lost mothers and husbands and some to Alzheimer's and ages of 92. Attendees catch us up on their children and jobs and the remember whens. Over the last few years, I have become friends with Hazel Shepherd and her family. They live at Grandmothers homeplace at the Head of Licking in Magoffin County. She has lived there now longer than Grandmother did. Gary and I visit the Howard Cemetery there and then stop to see her. Hazel knew my family and is a distant cousin. She remembers when my baby sister Sandra died and the burial service in the front yard for my grandfather Callie in 1958 preached by brother in law Henry Mullins. When her children go to Walmart, they take her along and she sits in her walker by the checkout and visits with friends or others who talk with her. Hazel gives a lot of good advice taken from a rough life in the mountains. What a great life Hazel has now with devoted bossy children and pet chickens and ponies and a view of the wooded mountains from her childhood and mine. Her daughter Sadie brings her to the reunion along with special candy she makes and fresh green beans and tomatoes which she grows in a garden on her other place. Most of the produce is given to residents on the road home.

Two years ago, Angie said she would take the reunion over. The preparation became too much for me to handle. She has help from Tamara and Ruth as I did. I couldn't handle the stress of getting people to play bingo and gather for the family photos. Some people come to just sit. Others readily join in the auction to raise funds for the hall rental and cemetery upkeep. Sister Leah always brings a quilt for a raffle creating great excitement and money. The winner now wears it parading for all to see. Tamara prints the family tree chart listing Grandmothers descendants. She gets the info from me and of course I always have a wrong date for someone. I take several books I have created with descendant and ancestor photos. It is fun to see old photos and to decide who you might resemble.

As the years have passed, fewer people attend. Reasons are health, age, distance and the infamous family vacation or the I don't feel like going. It is one day of the year!  When I was young, our vacation was traveling from Ohio to visit Grandmother. While there, we saw other relatives and visited the places in Kentucky that my parents knew from younger days. Those names and scenes are still ingrained in my mind. Their memories transferred to me. Nowadays families take their own trips to Myrtle Beach, The Smokey Mountains, and Florida. Their little families are the focus, and many children hardly see aunts and uncles or cousins. Families are smaller. In the future, if there is a reunion, it might consist of a brother and sister with spouses and four cousins who barely know each other.

My family's closeness comes from those times that we visited on Sunday and played together. Then, there was no trip to the amusement park or a $300 birthday party. Our social life was family.

My generation still has friends who sit and talk. All the kids are on an IPhone to see what others are doing.

I miss the porch talk when I was amazed at what my grandchildren had to say.

Families are smaller than ever but farther apart. As I age, I see the loss of connection among members.

Change and endings. We must learn to be alone.

Food is Relative

When we were youngsters, we ate the food put on the table. And liked it all as we cleaned our plates. Food then was different. No buffet. I first ate spaghetti at age 10 when my Aunt Rebecca brought Chef Boy Ar Dee in a can. I fell in love with the sweet taste of the sauce. Our pasta was macaroni with tomato juice added. My dad hated it. We had pork chops or thin steak for breakfast from animals that we had grown and butchered. As a child, my brother Roger adopted a calf which he named Sam after a Walt Disney animal. Sam was trained to pull a sled and come at Roger's call. Well, Sam grew and reached his purpose. He was made into steak and roast. They broke the news to Roger who was devastated. But that night at supper as the platter was passed he said "You might as well give me a piece of Old Sam".

My dad and brothers shot, scraped and butchered the hogs but cows were taken to a professional. In the early 60s, WWII veterans received a bonus for duty. My parents bought a freezer with his $500 used to store meat and garden produce.

Along with the farm animals, Dad and brother Larry hunted for game. And fished. I have held the hind legs of many rabbits and squirrels as their skin was peeled away from pink flesh that was crisply fried. Parts were parts until it came to the squirrel brains. I once told my Ohio friend Deb that we fought over who got to eat the brains. She is still laughing. That food was delicious but I guess we have out grown most of it. Except for chicken livers and gizzards which my husband can fry into a delicacy. Imagine my own shock when we went to Tiro Tavern with friends and found that they were featuring a Coon Feed. Who eats coon?
I will never fish. My dad and brothers went to pay lakes in southern Ohio. When we moved north, they thought they had found the mother lode in Lake Erie. Each Sunday they sat on the pier at Huron patiently waiting for a bite. One Sunday I was made to go. The sunburn lasted for a week. The boredom a lifetime. They were proud as they walked off the rocky pier showing off the buckets of their catch. I don't know how my mother stood it when they arrived home late with fish to clean. Today I am repulsed by a fish scale or bone.

As I listen to the rooster crowing down the street in New Haven, I am reminded of how often we had chicken dinners. My mom or grandmother were swift in capturing a young fryer or a fat stewing hen from the pen or under the shrubs in their dusty hideout. A quick jerk broke the neck or the sharp ax took the head off.
We laughed as the beheaded chicken flopped about the yard under the big dishpan. Not so as we plucked the scalded feathers that created an unforgettable odor. My sister Carol gagged and was excused from the duty. Then we watched as my mother singed the pin feathers over the flame on the gas stove. She or my grandmother cut the chicken apart in no time and unlike take out chicken today you could tell the thigh from the breast or back. Sometimes the hen had a partially formed egg which was thrown in with all the other parts to cook for the fat used to make dumplings. A great dinner on a hot Sunday after church.  We had to take turns on who got to eat the gizzard or liver. Grandmother always said she liked the feet-yes, they were cooked too. But I think that was the part left for her as she strived to feed hungry children. Mother never ate chicken.

Nowadays we serve chicken fingers, fish sticks, nuggets, pizza, tacos and calamari. No kid eats pork, fried chicken or wild game. They have not been hungry.

Into Winter 2018

Jan 6, 2018 Into Winter

Already it is January 6, 2018 and I have received not one seed catalog in the mail or thru email. The world is changing. In previous years, the booklets came right after Christmas. And I was able to spend hours looking at spring and planning my new gardens. If Mother was still with us, that is what she would be doing on these cold days. It’s always good to order at least one new Iris. And one weird vegetable. Perhaps the publishers realize that my gardening days are slipping into retirement and don’t waste time on a ‘just looking” subscriber.

I know it is unreasonable to think of gardens when northern Ohio and much of the country is in an extended deep freeze of weather. But hope is alive as we anxiously await next week’s temps in the 30s. We can put the heavy coats and scarves away for a while.

Christmas at our house is back in the closet. Each year, I plan to sort and discard ornaments and sit arounds, but by then, I just want it out of sight so the stack of boxes continues to grow. We collect vintage ornaments and often travel to Bronners in Frankenmuth, Mi. where we look for out of the ordinary ornaments. In the first year of marriage, we visited Bronners Christmas shops when they were in houses up town and had to stand in line to go through the houses. Since then, they have moved to the southern outskirts of town into a large building with decorations for all seasons. Its funny to think that some of those ornaments from the honeymoon trip are now vintage. When we visit Frankenmuth, we always have a chicken dinner at Zehnders and sit in our special booth in one of the small rooms. The restaurant’s specialty is fried chicken family style and includes noodle soup, slaw and cranberry relishes, liver pate, and special fruit bread.  We always enjoy a glass of Rhine style wine. One year, with the girls along, we bribed Victoria with a sherbet to try the pate. Her face indicated her intense dislike. We couldn’t even bribe Jennifer. When she tried beef liver at age 4, she told me she thought her food had poison in it. That is honest dislike.

Now that the rush of the season is over, I am trying to plan things to avoid my annual bout of SAD depression. This story is one way to avoid that desperate feeling. I also use my light to simulate some sunlight. The snow cover with the harsh whiteness keeps the gray away. I have also started a genealogy project. Each week will feature a different ancestor along with photos and stories I have access to. I will share on family FB pages and print a copy for myself. By the end of the year, I will have a nice book. My parents’ profiles are already completed and printed. Also, I use my Notes on my Iphone to write quick memories that can evolve into short stories. One of my friends, Cindy, remembers everything about Willard and its people and needs to do this for a Willard history.

Over the years, I have scanned, saved, shared, and reprinted thousands of old photos (the reason my computer is low on memory). This winter, I plan to drag out photo boxes and albums full of photos of my daughters to divide and scan. Maybe if they are online, the grandkids will enjoy seeing mom as a youngster and hear childhood stories from me. When we visited my grandmother, we always found her box of family photos to review. As we dug out pictures, she shared the names and relationships and a story about the person. My nonstop memory has stored that information and over the years, I have tried to share it in my written stories and my family tree on Ancestry. Those people who brought us to where we are today need to be remembered. Isn’t it a special moment when someone tells you that you look like grandma or Aunt Lucy and you know who they mean? They gave us our walk, our looks and mannerisms. As we age, who doesn’t find themselves using those Mom or Dad warnings and sayings from our youth? Our speech slowly recalls theirs.

In January, we have a trip planned to sunny Florida to visit my sister. Another forward plan. By then, we will need some real sunshine. Plus, it is good to get out of the comfort zone of home. In retirement, it is easy for me to spend days in my pajamas. Come on, I know others do the same thing.

As I write this, I am on the last day of antibiotics for upper respiratory infection and feeling ambitious after laying on the sofa for 2 weeks only going out to get the old “hags” hair (yeah looking rough) done and to get a few groceries with a friend. Weird that I can function through MS and RA, but a UPI knocks me out and seems to last forever. Have binge watched a few Netflix shows -Grace and Frankie-and actually read several books by Conrad Richter.

Not as many friends post on FB as in previous years. Please consider those people who use this as a way to stay in touch. We do enjoy hearing about your family. Your posting of activity and photos can bring brightness to a slow day.  Just a message means a thought. Keep it going. Sometimes a dark day lasts forever. Remember friends and family.

Karen Coffey Wilson

Labor Day

Today, Sept 4 2017, Labor Day, is surely bringing in the fall weather. Warm air is moving gently across the porch but the rushing wind in the trees shows their changing colors and sounds the dry rustle of yellow leaves falling and scraping across the roadway. Few travelers are out today. An occasional car whips the leaves into action so they can get on down the road to the neighbors yard. Or a motorcycle stirs them into shoelaces and delivers them to other towns.

 Nearby someone is burning wood for the holiday cookout. The odor makes me think of late evening bonfires and s'mores eaten by the squealing grandkids. Cricket chirping competes with the mellow tones of the wind chimes. They have been calling for mid September frosts which will cease their annoying song.

In 1976 the Labor Day weekend was rainy then hot and humid. I was miserable as I labored without drugs to deliver my oldest daughter at home for a day then in Willard Memorial Hospital for a night and day. In those days the nurses kept the prospective mothers strapped to the bed. All I wanted was to walk. Only one person could sit with me. Now they will let the whole extended family in the room if the mother and father can stand it. I just needed the doctor.

Other Labor Day weekends in the 80s, we traveled to Louisville, Kentucky for a family reunion at Grandmother Maudies on my mothers side. Those were hot days in an open park area. Most everyone came because few places worked weekends then. And the kids were still young enough to be made to see their relatives once a year.

Younger Labor Days signaled the start of the new school year. That weekend meant haircuts and home perms for me and 3 sisters until junior high. My poor brothers were treated to curly hair one year when Mother had leftover perm solution. Rogers school picture that year clearly showed his continued anger at the situation.  Ralph was too young to care and not in school yet. I now wonder how Mother felt when he was the only one at home and six of us were out of her way for the day.
She did not get a job until he was in first grade.

The holiday in the teen age years meant we still had to work a full day at the muck farm. Workers had to pull double duty and a long day since the farm season was ending as kids returned to school. Many of the girls shopped at Hills that Sat or Sun and compared clothing and supples while we worked. The air buzzed with excitement for the changes coming.

Labor Day used to be the end date for white shoes and white skirts for ladies. Now anything goes for fashion - not style. I will wear sandals and shorts in Ohio until the snow flies or the leaves burn. And Gary will mow the lawn in December when it is warm enough.

Lifes rules

Life rules and observations according to Karen:

 

 Check the toilet paper before you sit down.

 Always take a Kleenex. Your nose will run.

 Carry a hundred dollar bill in your wallet for shopping emergencies and donations to the less fortunate.

 Never burn a book. It carries someone's soul.

 You can't have too many books. You can have too little space. Move.

 A true best friend loves you without bias and encourages you to be wild.

 Anything you make is art. Express yourself. Keep paint on your hands and lyrics on your tongue.

 Listen to the cicadas in August. They sing the summer away.

 Your sister loves you when your mother has passed.

 Cousins are the best playmates and always have a connection to you.

 Grandmothers love unconditionally.

 Reunions recall childhood.

 Smoke on the Water makes you dance.

 Write your story a sentence at a time. A grandchild will memorize your words.

 Your mother is always with you as you parent and love and rejoice. Sometimes she is in your face.

 Buy red lipstick for your granddaughter.

 Let your oldest granddaughter be the boss.

 Grandsons don't give kisses but they like snuggles and hugs.

 Boys talk farts, poop and mine craft.

 The mountains call to me.

 Old enemies become your best old friends.

 At 60, it's okay to wear your Jammie's all day.

 Retirement means you no longer work. STOP. Enjoy the leaves in the breeze.

 Listen to others. They need a shoulder for caring.

 When you are lost, pray to God. You will find your purpose.

Don’t waste time on apostrphes.

I am sure theres more.CC

Candy Time

As a young child., I went to Jackson Local School in Jackson County in southern Ohio. The school and our home were located in the rolling foothills of Appalachia. We lived in the country far apart from other families on Tick Ridge. The school was our social life. The friends were great, and I loved the writing and math workbooks. Before I started 1st grade, I was allowed to go on a one day trial for the first grade with my older sisters. A high point in my life was the day when Mrs. Gahm opened the Big Look and See reader on the easel, and I learned to read the word "look". The world was opened. One day, Mrs. Gahm asked me to write my name on the blackboard. To me, writing meant cursive versus printing, and I wrote Sue in cursive. She was displeased but I had practiced with my sisters and knew how to do it. I quickly found that 1st graders only print their words. We practiced our printing on squares of paper cut from grocery bags. Although most students had yellow tablets, that paper was saved for important work. The teacher gave us stamps and stickers according to the seasons for excellent work. Mrs. Gahm kept her handkerchief down the front of her dress.

 In 2nd grade, I had Mrs. Essex as a teacher. We learned counting to 1000 and adding and subtraction. I used to take my workbook home on the weekends to do pages ahead. Recess also became important as I learned to socialize with other kids. Mrs. Essex had a daughter, Nancy, one year older than me whose dresses were passed to me. Jackpot for pretty dresses with under slips with bells. I still have the dresses in a trunk.

 In 3rd grade, I was taught geography, health and multiplication by Mrs. Betz who was short and stern. In geography, we studied Eskimos and became familiar with China on the other side of the world. As we stood in line for the bus, I became adept at the memorization of the times tables. 3rd graders were eligible for candy time after afternoon recess. In the principal’s office, candies and snacks were displayed on a wooden rack. For a dime, I bought small boxes of stick pretzels wrapped in cellophane. The first time I ate pretzels.

 Although shy, I was a good student. The reading and math and pretzels were the beginning of me knowing the world.