Beech Tree News Network

When I see a man in overalls, I always think of my father.  Not my dad the county judge, but my dad the simple sawmill man.  In my mind, overalls—overhauls he called them—will always symbolize hard work, even though after he retired from the mill, he wore them when he was relaxing, a gallous hanging off one shoulder.

                When our granddaughter, Sabria, was first learning to talk, she would say “Papa” each time she saw the Valvoline symbol.  As she got a little older, she would get into my chair at work, stamp Post-its with our address stamper then give them to customers as tickets.  Recently, she told me she was going to work at our Valvoline Express Care when she grows up.  I told Garey, Sabria will probably always use Valvoline products because Valvoline symbolizes her grandparents at work.  It is amazing the connections our minds and emotions make to things.

                Garey and I celebrated our five-year wedding anniversary in Hawaii.  While I was there, I found out I was pregnant with my oldest daughter, Natalie.  I had terrible morning sickness, and the onslaught of the colors and smells and sights of paradise did little to ease that sickness.  I would have kissed the ground when we landed back on the mainland, but I didn’t have the strength to get back up.  It was a miserable flight.  Years later, I dropped off a friend at that same airport, when a woman emerged through the gate, wearing a brightly colored dress and a lei around her neck.  She carried a HILO HATTIE’S bag, a famous shopping place on the island, I and every other tourist to Hawaii takes time to visit.  When I saw the woman, I became so overcome by nausea I barely made it to the restroom in time.  I’m probably the only person in the world who never wants to see Hawaii again.

                On a more pleasant note, when the small wild violets emerge in the spring under our willow tree, I always think of Ms. Douglas, our neighbor when we lived on Markwell Lane in Mt. Washington.  I was around five years old when I cut my foot nearly in half, and she came to visit me, carrying a bouquet of those little purple flowers.  I thought they were beautiful.  Little children cherish the smallest of gifts.

                My friend, Sandra, always sends Sabria a card for every holiday, and in each card is a five-dollar bill.  Recently, when one of Sabria’s friends had a birthday, she insisted on putting a five-dollar bill inside the card.  We had already gotten her little friend a gift, but that didn’t matter.  She wanted her friend to get the same joy she does when she opens one of Sandra’s cards.  If I’m alive when Sabria has children, I will probably continue that tradition.

                There are other objects that bring back good memories for me.  Just last week, I ordered the Highlights magazine for Sabria because of the sample I received in the mail.  When I saw that magazine, I remembered the reading table in Mrs. Anderson’s fifth-grade class.  Issues of that magazine were always there.  Mrs. Anderson was a woman wise enough to know if children have access to reading materials, many will gravitate that way.

                The sight of a stamped and sealed air mail envelope always takes me back to the sight of my oldest sister, Marsha, writing to her husband, Eddie, during a time when he was stationed overseas without her.  In my young mind, that image was always associated with love letters, and it hasn’t varied to this day.

                I believe the greatest tragedy of aging is not the physical suffering, but rather the not being able to remember.  I read once that a dying person has to get to the point of despair before they will let go of this life and pass on to the next.  I think I would reach that point if I could no longer remember the little things that once bought me so much joy.