A Philosophy of Life

I lived in Akron, Ohio from the time I was 2 until I was almost 8 years old. I lived on Westover Drive and I had two best friends in my neighborhood, Cathy Walsh and Tina Jensen. Tina and I had one very special interest in common--we both loved to suck our thumbs. I can see us now, sitting on her front step on a hot, summer afternoon, probably around 1955 or 1956, sucking our thumbs. We weren't talking to each other, we were just very happily sucking our thumbs. Of course our mothers were not fond of our favorite pastime and I will sometime write of my sad journey to the end of thumb sucking.

But one of my personal philosophies of life is that if it was socially acceptable for adults to suck their thumbs when life is stressful or a little peace and comfort is necessary, then there would be a heck of a lot less depression and the anti-depressant industry would collapse. Some solutions are just so simple. . .

The Butterscotch Comforter

When I was a teenager, I had a butterscotch comforter on my bed. During the warm months of late spring and all through the summer, the comforter lay folded across the foot of my bed. But come late fall and all during the cold months of winter and early spring, the comforter became a most treasured part of my four poster bed. I loved my butterscotch comforter. I call it that because it was the color of butterscotch pudding. One side was patterned and one side was corduroy. I can still feel the smoothness of the corduroy as I snuggled into bed and pulled the comforter up around my chin. My Dad always insisted that we crack a window in our rooms at night unless it was very, very cold. But my comforter kept me as warm as I have ever been in any bed. When I turned out the light and settled in to sleep, I felt safe and peaceful and happy.

I remember one winter morning when it was especially cold. It must have been a Saturday. It was still dark and my Mom came into my room to shut the window. I recall looking at the clock, seeing there was still plenty of sleep time, feeling the joy that you can only feel when you realize it's Saturday, and hearing Mom say, "Go back to sleep." I snuggled down, way down, and I can still see myself smiling.

This selective memory comes back to me often, and I wonder why. I have decided that it must be because all sorts of happy things were coming together at the same time--it was Saturday, I was toasty warm, my Mom was in the room, I felt safe, and content, and just plain good. I know especially when my own children were teenagers, I always felt peaceful (and relieved) when everyone was at home and in bed. I think all mothers must feel that way--we want our brood to be tucked in and accounted for.

I don't know what happened to the butterscotch comforter. I suppose when I went away to college Mom eventually got a new one. But nights under that wonderful quilt will remain with me always. And too, when I think of the comforter I think of my Mom, so that's just an added extra good bonus.

Sherman Conley

Last week I went to my 40th high school class reunion. I guess it was a pretty typical class reunion for 40 years--fewer people came than last time, one classmate is very ill right now and hospitalized, gray hair is increasing, and there is more talk of grandchildren than children. Since selective memory allows me to completely bypass the aging process, all my classmates looked exactly like they did 40 years ago in 1968. 1968 was an absolutely explosive time in American culture and history. I graduated right smack in the middle of two of the most important events of that year, the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. in April and Bobby Kennedy in June. The Tet offensive in Vietnam happened while I was wondering if anyone would ask me to the Valentine's Dance. I was lifeguarding and getting a good tan during the Democratic National Convention. I was listening to some of the best music ever made, like "Hey Jude" by the Beatles when I was going off to college. Social activism and protest were the norm, not the unusual. So, as a classmate who could not come to the reunion wrote in her can't come letter, "Why did we not insist that Sherman Conley receive his diploma on the stage with the rest of us?"



Sherman Conley was an adult, married, with 2 young children, who began our freshman year with us. He had never received his high school diploma and he was determined to earn it. Every year, for 4 years, he attended classes with us in the morning and went to work 2nd shift in the afternoon. I know this was a huge hardship for him and he must have been exhausted all the time. I'm sure he wanted to quit many times, but he stuck it out. Graduation time came. School board policy at that time said that a married person could not participate in the graduation ceremony. So our class had Sherman sit in the front row of the auditorium and our class speaker recognized him in his speech and we all stood up and applauded for him. But why didn't we INSIST that he sit on stage with us? Did we protest? Did we approach the school board? Did we send a petition around? I don't remember. I remember walking out of a psychology class because I felt a classmate made a prejudiced remark, but why wasn't I protesting Sherman's ban from graduation? This is a selective memory that I wish I didn't have, because I don't remember doing anything. I hope I'm wrong. I hope I did something, but I don't think I did.

The Perfect Day

It was a fall day in 1962. I was in the seventh grade at Colonel Crawford Elementary School in Carey, Ohio. I was standing at the end of the sidewalk, waiting for my friends to arrive. It was a sunny, crisp day and it was the first day I had gotten to wear a pullover sweater and knee socks. During the twelve years that I was in school, girls always had to wear skirts or dresses. We could never wear pants. Even on the coldest days of winter, and I walked to school every day, we could wear pants under our skirts, but we had to take them off when we got to school. So, anyway, I must have been wearing a skirt with my sweater and knee socks. I remember that it was a Friday and that because of a teachers' meeting we only had school for half a day and we could go home at lunch. None of my friends had come yet, so I was waiting. . .waiting for my friends to arrive so we could talk and I could see what they were wearing, waiting for school to be over so I could have a Mom lunch instead of a school lunch, waiting for Friday afternoon (and it got to come so much sooner today!), waiting, waiting, waiting. . .

I'm sure that the anticipation of that moment has made it stick in my memory. I was waiting for all those wonderful things to happen, knowing they would happen soon, knowing that none of them were over yet, and knowing that the best was yet to come. Anticipation is a wonderful part of life--isn't it true that the anticipation of an event is sometimes far better than the event itself? I think on this perfect day, though, anticipation and reality must have been equal. I don't remember anything else that happened that day. I'm sure more important things occurred than wearing a pullover sweater and talking with my friends--I always had piano lessons on Friday afternoon, so maybe my piano lesson had been canceled too. Selective memories? Absolutely. But that's what makes selective memories so special. They are like little presents that you tuck away for safekeeping and then go to find on any given day for any given reason. Most of the time you don't even have to go searching for them, they just arrive, unannounced, making you smile for a few moments during a busy day.

That Perfect Day in 1962 has made me happy many times over during the years, and I know I'll rewrap that present and put it back in the memory chest to find yet another day.

The Humble Mother

I DO remember the reason that I wrote this poem. As I was up for a middle of the night feeding with one of my kids, the thought came for this poem. So I guess this is a selected memory, not a selective one!

THE HUMBLE MOTHER

Picture the Bethlehem stable,

You see the sweet baby's calm face,

Mother Mary looks radiant and loving,

It is truly God's most serene place.

But think now, be honest, be truthful,

You've had babes of your own and you know,

Would a birth in a cold, windy stable

Be that easy? It just couldn't be so.

I'm sure Mary suffered and worried,

Just a young girl afraid but still trying,

Giving birth to the Saviour of mankind,

But like all of us, hurting and crying.

And I'm sure that again like the rest of us,

There were days the babe cried and slept fitfully,

There were days that the nursing was every two hours,

There were days the babe didn't act blissfully.

God could have made Christ a great prince strong and rich

To be pampered by servants and others,

Instead He gave Jesus a life very simple,

Not unlike our lives now as mothers.

So humble yourselves, modern mothers,

Be like the brave Mary, so fair,

And remember as she lives in all mothers now,

So the Christ lives in babes everywhere.

Selective Memories

Hello! I would like to take a moment to introduce myself. My name is Sandy and I am blogging for the first time. I have always been interested in writing about my own personal experiences. Although I have never had much time to do that, I am hoping that somewhere down the road in the future I will be able to begin writing enough to consider it a hobby. But I have always been uncertain about a place to practice my writing. I have a great family, but I don't think they want my writings as presents, at least not yet. Then, because of a class I am taking, I was introduced to blogging . . .



I have had the name "Selective Memories" in mind for a long time. My reason for this is that I have always been puzzled and curious about why I remember certain events in my life. I remember small, seemingly insignificant times clearly, and on the other hand do not remember some major events in my life!



I could have called this "Selected Memories," but then it would imply that I had some choice over what I am choosing to write about. As I wonder about why I remember what I do, I have decided to go with "Selective Memories" and see what happens!