This might not even belong here because it isn’t strictly about my own memories but imagining what happened to other folks. I guess I watch people a little too much and like to explore / imagine what it was like to be in their shoes when they were younger. It’s kind of like finding an old farm house out in the middle of nowhere. The very first thing I do is head for what would have been the kitchen. More times than not, the place is gutted and the only thing left is the hole where the stack went through the wall or ceiling. Probably an old wood burning stove sat there where some good biscuits, ham and eggs or even a good pot of beans were prepared. Just thinking about it now I can smell some bread coming out of the oven. Then, there’s the marks. There are almost always some marks on the kitchen doorway or wall where the kids would stand and have dad mark their height. Even the names of the kids would be above the marks sometimes to help complete the story. How many girls would be helping mom and how many boys would be responsible for helping dad to do his chores? I wonder if mom and dad danced in the living room next to the kitchen after the kids were tucked away? Watching people is like that. See the marks, see the evidence of a life long past but still remembered. Just yesterday I was outside the med mall / gym waiting for Yvonne and an elderly lady went past me on her walker headed out to the parking lot. She walked slower than most with the walker. She was hunched over and grasped the handles like they were some sort of life line as she made her journey to wherever her car awaited. Then.....I looked at her face. Rugged and wrinkled and with that large wart on the end of her nose she wasn’t even remotely “pretty”. She’d had a hard life and probably an even harder one in the future but still there was something that I couldn’t quite pin down. As she was passing in front of me I said howdy and asked her if she was okay and then she stopped and looked straight at me and that’s when I saw her eyes; They sparkled. They danced. I saw memories. Good memories. Through the wrinkles and the wart and everything else, I saw something of her past, something amazing that kept her young, at peace and smiling. Yes, she smiled. A beautiful smile followed by a clear as a bell voice assuring me she was doing okay gave me the good tidings of a Merry Christmas!!. Though slightly stunned, I smiled back and squeaked out a similar tiding and wished her well. She went on her way, slowly, taking one feeble step at a time leaving me wondering; How many children had she made marks on the wall for? How many loaves of bread did she take out of that old wood burning oven? Did she and her husband dance in the living room? I’ll never know but by the looks of those eyes, she does and remembers it well.
Very touched by your writing - thanks for sharing those thoughts, I could picture her so clearly I've lost count on the amount of times this has happened to me, certain people capture that imagination You expressed in words beautifully
Excellent writing, Bobby. I felt like I was there with you. I had an encounter with an elderly man recently in a checkout line. He was very old-school courteous, insisting that I go ahead of him. We struck up a conversation and he told me about his dog, waiting at home for the food he was buying. "That dog needs to get a job!", he exclaimed. He seemed a lonely soul and appeared to enjoy our brief conversation. (I know I did.) We exchanged holiday wishes and I went on my way. Very pleasant exchange indeed.
I'm a northerner we're notoriously friendly , I will strike a conversation up with anyone, but here in the south the locals are notoriously closed, and generally speaking if you start a convo with a stranger you're viewed with deep suspicion , and they will try and move away from you as fast as possible. Having lived here since '74 you'd think I'd be used to it, but it's ingrained for me to chat and I almost always get the same suspicious retort or the look that tells me they think I'm some escaped lunatic.. *sigh* Anyway..the story of the supermarkets reminded me of just the other day.. similar scenario..elderly woman , all bent over struggling to hold onto and to push the trolley(cart) through the car park, and as she reached her car I asked her if she would like some help to unload... My God you would have thought I asked for her first born..!! NO she barked, NO I DO NOT!! I just smiled pleasantly and said ok.. obviously I don't want to scare old ladies.. , and got into my own car while watching her struggling to load hers..
Beautifully told, @Bobby Cole . I have found that if you listen, most old people will happily share memories with you. Some of them are happy, some sad but all are worth hearing.
Wonderfully written @ Bobby Cole !!! (PS: My eyes now twinkle, not because of happy memories, but because all the kids finally moved out. )