Strawberry Moments Forever

"… the smell and taste of things remain poised a long time, like souls· bearing resiliently, on tiny and almost impalpable drops of their essence, the immense edifice of memory" -Marcel Proust,  "The Remembrance of Things Past"

Do you have a smell that reminds you of special memories? Perhaps the redolent smell of your childhood Sunday dinners? Or popcorn at Saturday matinees? Does a particular aroma take you back where you can see the scene as vividly as if you were right there now?

Proust's words speak volumes to me because throughout my life, the distinctive perfume of fresh strawberries has prevailed as my memory prompter. Perhaps it can even serve as a metaphor for much of my life. This love affair began in my childhood and I write about this in one of my past blog entries, "A World Without Childhood?"

Since that early experience, strawberries have continued as the framework of my most treasured moments.

Consider our honeymoon, for example. The year was 1962 and segregation was still an issue. Neither Will nor I had ever seen signs "for whites only" before, and the sight of so many appalled us. A truck loaded with cartons of berries pulled in behind us on a Chesapeake Bay ferry boat. Two black men got out of the truck and stood in the hot May sunshine. They couldn't go inside where it was cool since the boat wasn't large enough to have an extra space for what then was referred to as "for coloreds only." I spoke to them and said, "It must be nice to drive a truck with such a lovely cargo." They smiled back and tipped their hats.

When we returned to our car, one of the men handed us two quarts of berries. We thanked them profusely and thought about them as we continued on our way. That night, in a modest motel, I poured the lush, red fruit into the tiny sink to wash them and we ate our fill in bed before turning out the light. So, forever they will represent passion and love, along with a little sadness, too, at how badly people can treat other people by considering them as less worthy.

The following years went quickly for us—perhaps because our four daughters were born within the first five years of our marriage. When our youngest was four, we began taking them to a nearby farm to pick strawberries every June. My mother-in-law, Lib, would often join us and then come home to help clean and hull the berries.

After I washed the scarlet stains off the kids' faces and fingers and tucked them into bed, I'd come back to the kitchen to make pie crusts, usually twelve in all. As I kneaded and rolled, I could hear Will and his mother on our jalousie porch, a soft, gentle sound while I reveled in my solitude and the tactile feel of the dough.

Years later, in California, I picked huge, almost meatball size fruit on a California hill with my second daughter, Cindy, and three granddaughters. And as Yogi Berra says, it was "déjà vu all over again." That evening, however, I was the person hulling the berries while Cindy scrubbed away the ruby hue of the fruit that just couldn't wait another day to be eaten.

Now our family is grown and scattered from the East to the West Coast, but this succulent fruit continues to bring additional memories. Last week, we escorted our youngest daughter down a sandy beach on her wedding day in Santa Cruz, California. A joyous week for all of us with, you guessed it, more strawberries. As I hulled them, I inhaled deeply, drinking in one more strawberry moment while I listened to the chatter of gathered family. And as I did so, I thought how blessed I am to have this thread through my life and look forward to seeing what else this succulent fruit will bring in the future.

So, tell me, do you also have a special scent that takes you back in time? If so, drink it in and find yourself right there in that special place, that special moment. If not, consider creating memory markers by using your sense of smell during future happy moments—perhaps the smell of perfume you put on or notice on a loved one some New Year's Eve, or the sweet distinctive fragrance of the ocean after a storm.

A World without Childhood?

My lunchtime drink of choice is always Diet Peach Snapple. I love the taste. An added bonus is checking out the fact printed on the lid of each bottle. Some are funny, others surprising, but all are conversation starters. Yesterday's was thought provoking: "Bees are born fully grown."

Now, many of you may have already known that, but somewhere in my science education, I missed that lesson. The thought of anything being born fully grown never occurred to me. Imagine no frisky puppies, soft little kittens, or pink piglets. Sounds rather glum, doesn't it?

Sure enough, Will, my significant other, and I became fully immersed in thinking about this phenomenon. Will brought up a movie we'd seen entitled "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button." The lead, Brad Pitt (Benjamin), is born old and gradually grows younger—the opposite of what really happens in life. And while not quite the same scenario as being born fully grown, it's the same kind of premise that can spur the "what if" in many of us.

So, what would it be like to be born fully grown? As I went through the day, the concept continued to tickle my imagination. Who would I be if I had no childhood? The older I get, the more I realize how my childhood shaped me. I find myself thinking more about those earlier years than I ever seem to reflect on those spent working and raising a family.

We lived in the country—not the countryside you might think of with rolling hills and other houses nearby, but the isolated kind of country in one of John Steinbeck's books. Our house stood surrounded by fields of weeds. And to reach our nearest neighbor, we had to walk down the dirt road in front of our house to get to a paved road to a huge farm.


Until I went off to first grade, I didn’t see too many other children. In today's world, I guess that would sound grim and lacking in socialization, but I had my imagination and daydreaming to nourish me. I spent hours alone in the fields and the woods. Wild strawberries grew in some of the fields and I can still see myself in suspendered overalls eating them, alone but not lonely. That time spent in solitude, I believe, made me self sufficient, but perhaps a little bit of a loner.

Each spring, I followed my cat to find where she'd hid that year's litter of kittens. I'm not sure how I knew she would have them every year but I think it was because she grew fat, then thin. The question of how the kittens came to be within her never occurred to me. I think it was trust—the innocence of a child who assumes all will continue to be the same in her world.

That simple, artless time of growth is why childhood is not something to be missed. What would it be like to be born fully grown? To be without that time to be, to think, to daydream? It's a treasure we carry our entire lives, but often holds pain, too. My childhood, like most people's, is an amalgam of good and bad memories. For me, the good news is that the distance of time helped put the unhappy moments more in perspective.

My wish for you is that if your childhood was laced with more sadness than joy, you will reach that moment when the sadness is like the sting of a bee, intense when it happened, but short lived in your memory.

A Celebration of Life

It's a celebration, it's a celebration
Celebrate good times, come on!
Celebrate good times, come on!

There's a party goin' on right here
A celebration that'll last throughout the year
Shall bring you good times, and good laughter too
We're gonna celebrate your party with you
Come on now
Celebration - we're gonna celebrate and have a good time



Celebration -We're gonna celebrate and have a good time, celebration - we're gonna celebrate and have a good time
It's time to come together
It's up to you, what's your pleasure
Everyone around the world Come on!!

It's a celebration! It's a celebration!
Celebrate good times, come on!
Celebrate good times, come on!

(Julia is the one in the center, with "76" on her shirt)

On Tuesday evening, January 5th, I perched close to the TV to watch the halftime show at the Orange Bowl. Why? Not because I'm a football fan, but because my granddaughter, Julia, was dancing with about 900 others in a circle around Kool and the Gang. Despite the numbers on the field, I had hopes of being able to single her out.

A silly thought, I know, but we grandmothers often are beyond hopeful in our thinking. Especially when it comes to our dear grands. Maybe because it's one of the least complicated relationships in the universe. They are. We love. So simple.

As I sat there, watching the joyous movement, I realized how apropos the song was for the moment. "Celebration" is one of those songs woven into the fabric of my life, so much so that I was sure I had danced to it in the '60's. Apparently not. When I headed to Google, I found this iconic song came out in the '80's, although Kool and the Gang had been around since the late '60's.
Still, what could be more natural in the evolution of life than to see Julia dancing to the song that I'd been dancing to with wild abandonment for close to thirty years? Knowing the child of my child was dancing to "Celebration" with Kool and the Gang live exemplified the continuity of life and perhaps, little hint of immortality for me.

I had hoped she was savoring the moment even more than I was watching it. When I received the picture above, I could see her pleasure in moving to the beat and that was only the rehearsal. Later, my daughter told me the swirl of dancers around the stage was supposed to signify a record spinning. It went far beyond an inanimate object such as that. It was so much more alive and electric.

To Julia, and to all who may read this post, my wishes for your continued "Celebration" of life.

lyrics can be found at http://www.songlyrics.com/.

The Interlude between Christmas and New Year's

I always find this a time for reflection and kind of cleaning up loose ends before the New Year begins. It's a pause. There's nowhere I have to be - no meetings, no commitments. This brief interlude affords me time to squirrel in and do whatever I've been avoiding or not had time to do.

So, today, I decided to edit my Picasa file. For some reason, I've copied pictures in several different files, so I have duplicates and photos in all the wrong places - twice. Does anyone out there have a neat way to file all these images? If you do, shout it out.

Of course, looking at all these photos soon turned into its own occupation: reminiscing about all the good times and the moments when I may have lost my cool on one of those trips. I'll have to add "patience" to my New Year's Resolutions this year. After several hours, I was pleased to note I only had two more files to go. I'll do them later. I'll have to add "eliminate procrastination" to that New Year's list.

Needing a break from all this, I opted for a snack of Brie, crackers, apples, wine, and a dish of cashews, just a small dish. I'll have to add "lost five pounds" to that, you guessed it, my New Year's Resolutions.

Now, I'm back to my computer determined to write another post. This whole blogging thing is new to me. How do you find topics for yours? If you have any thoughts, let me know. And again, I better add "commit to a blog a day or at least three a week so I can get the hang of this" to that lengthening list of goals.

Part of my problem is I'm not sure of what theme my blog should have. I see other blogs. I view them all with admiration. There's blogs on the '50's - I use them to do a reminiscing program for seniors. There's cooking and baking blogs - I go there for recipes whenever I want to try something new, which is often. And of course, there's political blogs - I go there when I'm bored or want to learn more about what other people think. Sewing blogs, too, where I can check out quilt design, colors, and other things. I definitely must add "decide what you want to be, at least on your blog" to that Resolution list.

All of this brings me to a question: How many of you are Resolution junkies like me? Stay tuned for my next blog. It definitely will include some pointers on how to make New Year's Resolutions. Every journey (change) begins with the first step.

Christmas, Past, Present, Future

Though Christmas comes but once a year, doesn't it seem to come so quickly? It seems as if we no sooner put the decorations away and it's time to get them out once more. So much to do, so little time. I always look forward to the day arriving because I know I can't do any more shopping or planning.

A sense of peace descends upon me and I know it's okay to put aside anything that hasn't yet been done and enjoy. This year, my husband, Will and I, will be staying home for the third year in a row. All of our children and grandchildren are far away - with only one living close enough for us to drive. And at that, it takes us two days

Our first year "alone," I worried about not going to one of our daughter's houses, but now, we've settled into our new routine and I look at it as a new time in our life. Sort of like our first Christmas alone together. Though, I don't even think of that first year as one truly alone since I was already pregnant with our first daughter. Already, I was thinking of myself as Mom and Will as Dad. That was 47 years ago! My, how those Christmases have flown by.

Each year, since then, I've put out our Christmas stockings, the ones I hand stitched that first year as a surprise for Will. At the time, he didn't act too thrilled. Looking back, I realize that more than likely the concept of becoming a father within the first year of becoming a husband hadn't quite soaked into his psyche. Since our daughter, Ginger, was nestled just under my heart, I think it was easier for me.

I find as I live longer, all the Christmases of my life are part of each year's celebration. So, I guess we really are not alone since all those memories live in our hearts. There's a bittersweet quality to the holiday as I review all the cherished mental pictures - our early years with our little girls as each one joined our family, their growing years, and yes, a little sadness as they grew beyond the magic of Santa Claus. Just a smidgen, though, one that was overcome by my joy in seeing them grow as they should into lovely young women.

Later, I wondered how much longer I would have all four come home for the holidays and then, all too soon, it happened, fortunately, not all of them at once, and the change was sweetened by the addition of grandchildren. Ah, once again the magic of Santa... Then all too soon, that, too, evaporated as the children of my children grew into their teen and preteen years.

As each year comes and goes, I no longer take them for granted as I did in years past. To be with my beloved, to talk to each of my children, and at least some of my grandchildren, is a gift beyond any other.

So, our stockings are hung, boxes from North Carolina and Florida have arrived and the presents await. Now, we, too, wait for the arrival of the Presence ourselves. And cherish not only the old memories, but the making of new ones. We are blessed in so many ways.

Merry Christmas, One and All!