Of Memory, Memories and Allergies by Konnie Enos

I had all these plans and ideas for my post this week.

There’s the conversation with Jerry that I thought was funny. You know the one I forgot to record in any fashion that has since been changed out of my retrievable memory.

Then there is the funny interaction I had with Royce. Still funny. What it boils down to is his description of what a shawl is. He called it a fancy blanket. I understand why he said that. I crocheted both my shawl and my Afghan, they both are to keep me warm, and I doubt he’s noticed that they are different shapes.

I, however, didn’t write that one down either because I had to take Mable to the vet. Saturday was just a normal recheck of her bloodwork visit but they asked us to bring her back on Sunday. Not because her bloodwork was off, but because they were concerned about some changes we are seeing in her. They did some x-rays and what they could see just tells us that Mable is on her last leg. As far as we know, she’s 12 now, but that’s because she was a mature dog when the shelter got her. Veterinarians can distinguish puppies and dogs up to six years and after that, it’s harder to tell. She was mature, i.e.: at least six, when the shelter found her. She could be much older than that and is showing signs of dementia.

All in all, it means we may not have Mable much longer. But then it was almost 2 years ago when they told us her liver wasn’t functioning well and she didn’t have long left. So it’s just wait and see now.

Then Monday, Royce’s birthday, we had the wonderful event of my daughter bringing her daughters (and husband) for a visit. During this visit, someone prompted my oldest granddaughter to wish her Uncle Royce a happy birthday. She immediately responded by singing the birthday song to him.

It was beautiful. Especially since she is old enough to pronounce all the words. Not to mention young enough to be adorable doing it. Then as we were giving him his presents and cutting the cake I asked her to lead us in singing to her youngest uncle again. She happily complied. Stole the show from Royce, but I don’t care. I don’t think Royce did either.

I doubt she’ll remember it for long. Not only because of how young she is but also because I think she was more impressed that we had watermelon on the table. I don’t think she even batted an eye at the home-made pizza and cake, or the ice cream.

Then again, she’s a bit dog crazy so being in a house with five dogs to lavish some attention was a big draw for her. Unfortunately for her, all are dogs are older and the only one still young enough to give some exuberant attention was still recovering from minor surgery. Before she’d been here an hour, they were all avoiding her. Well except the biggest one, which she only saw through my bedroom window.

And at that point, I was still remembering I had a post to write. Though first I had to deal with getting some bills paid since it is the beginning of the month. So yesterday, while mauling over exactly what I’d write, I spent most of the day dealing with the bills. Then, even when I’d finished that task, I still wasn’t quite sure what to write.

However, I think what messed me up is I completely forgot to set an alarm for earlier than I usually get up so that I’d have time to get something written. So this morning, after my alarm had startled me awake, and after I’d made sure both Mable and Xavier had their morning meds, and while I was still groggy, I suddenly realized I had a post to write and only an hour in which to do so and get it posted.

Funny how deadlines can wake you up. And sometimes even stimulate the muse.

And I think I can blame my still being a bit sleepy because Friday I came in contact with something I’m reacting to. It’s not anaphylaxis so I’m just treating it with Zyrtec and Benadryl. But we all know Benadryl can put you to sleep. I took some last night and within thirty minutes I was barely able to keep my eyes open long enough to prepare for bed.

So while I’ve had a few things happen this last week, I’m going to blame my lack of energy on my allergic reaction and the treatment available to me. It is also the reason my post is up late.

How are things going for you?

Smile. Make the day a brighter day. 

Of Late Nights and Memories by Konnie Enos

 Okay, confession time.

I spent so much time and effort studying for my finals this week that I forgot I still had a post to write, even though it was on my to-do list for Tuesday. Only after I was getting ready for bed did I realize that I hadn’t done that one very important task yet.

Now what? At this point, it was past midnight and I absolutely need my rest so I could do well on the two tests I still needed to get done. But, since I hadn’t forewarned Bonnie, I also had to get a post written.

Conundrum.

I still had no clue what to write about. In fact, I’d been having difficulty putting two words together in coherent thought since I was told the oldest of our brothers had passed away. Keep in mind that while he is the oldest boy, he isn’t the oldest child. He’s younger than all three of us sisters (me, Bonnie, and our older sister).

So, with my thoughts fully on my brother, I suppose he will be the topic today.

One of my clearest memories of him was when I was eight and out in our front yard playing. When to my astonishment Bryon came riding down the street on our mother’s bike.

This was a full-sized women’s bike and Bryon was at most 7-years-old, and he wasn’t big for his age. He couldn’t even reach the pedals if he was sitting on the seat at its lowest position. So instead of trying to ride it while sitting, he was standing on the pedals while he rode around.

It blew me away. He was the youngest of us and the first one to figure out balancing on a bike. Over the next four years, both Bonnie and Jacki learned how to ride, but I was simply not confident enough to balance one. I always lost my balance within a few feet.

When I was twelve, with a bunch of our friends over to ride bikes around the parking lot outside the apartment we lived in, Bryon convinced me to get on our mother’s bike and try just one more time.

I was very reluctant, but he promised me he’d ride beside me and keep ahold of the seat, so I didn’t tip over.

Admonishing him to not let go, I set off, periodically glancing to my side to be sure he was still beside me. Because of our positions, I couldn’t see if he was still holding me up or not but assumed so since I was not tipping at all.

Then he suddenly rode off, swinging around right in front of me. I yelled, even berating him for not holding on.

His response? “What are you yelling at me for? You’re riding, aren’t you?”

I looked down. I had not wobbled in the least and was still pedaling along nicely. Without hesitation, I then did a crazy eight. My brother had tricked me into figuring out I could balance a bike.

I have plenty of other stories, particularly about how spoiled our little brother was, but I also have some about the man he grew to be.

When we were adults and married, Bryon and I ended up living in the same apartment complex. Being the nearest family member, I often called on him and his wife when I needed help with something. Early one morning I needed help.

It could not have been 5 in the morning when Tina fell out of bed and cut open the bottom of her chin. I was certain she’d need to be seen so I called Bryon.

He wanted me to take her to his place, but I pointed out her three sleeping siblings and the fact that Jerry had left for work not long before she fell out of bed.

He also had three sleeping kids, so he moaned and came over. After checking her chin, he ended up taking her to the ER with a note from me saying he could seek medical care for her.

Years later she was attending college in the same area where he lived and found herself in immediate need of a ride. Bryon dropped everything to head over to pick her up though our sister-in-law beat him there.

However, only a few months later I had reason to believe she again needed help and called Bryon in a bit of a panic. He didn’t hesitate. He dropped everything and rushed right over to her and stayed with her while he was still needed.

These are the things Tina remembers about her Uncle Bryon. The one uncle who would drop everything to help her when she needed it. She is already missing him.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day. Our family could use it.

Of Memories and Smiles by Konnie Enos

I like reading the Miss Manners column. (I might learn something about good behavior.) This past weekend I was reading some of her recent columns and came across a letter from the mother of the bride. She had been divorced from the bride’s father for over two decades and she had little contact with him during the intervening years, plus she did not know his family. All would be in attendance at the wedding.

Now the letter was about her concerns for making this event less uncomfortable for this group of veritable strangers, but while I read it I remembered the story of another wedding reception where the parents of the groom had been divorced for over 20 years. The groom was their youngest. It should also be noted that while their children were in their late teens the father bodily threw the mother out of his house, with good cause. (I secretly applauded his actions.)

Within a few years, he then moved his family to a different state without ever seeing or even speaking to his ex since he threw her out. (Be assured, he had seen his children, just not their mother.)

During the intervening years, their three older children had managed to get married without both parents being there to witness it. The oldest eloped. The next two pretty much eloped as they planned their big days in less than two weeks. Due to proximity, the second child had only the mother there, and the third had only the father. By the time this wedding takes place, it’s been well over a decade since their last face-to-face encounter.

Now the son and his bride took nearly a full year to plan their big event including taking into account the weather since the father would have to drive through the mountains to get there. They planned a fall wedding, rather than in the middle of winter. Both parents can and would be there, if not all the siblings.

I heard no stories about how the actual wedding went down but one has to assume that the parents of the groom had no face-to-face confrontations based solely on what happened next.

Now it must be understood that both of them are now pushing 60. She’s grown a bit rounder and has more gray hair. He has a full head of receding gray hair and now needs a cane. He’s also rounder. One can safely say he’d aged more in the last few years than she had, though he was still recognizable.

Now cue the reception.

Since the father and mother weren’t known to get along, and both parents were there with their current spouse, not to mention the father’s health issues, they had forgone a reception line.

Well, the mother of the groom felt it was important that she should greet all the guests and introduce herself to any she didn’t know. She, therefore, was wandering around the room talking to everyone.

The father, however, health being the issue, was sitting at one of the tables only talking to or greeting those who came up to him. Just an older gentleman sitting with his hands resting on a nicely carved cane, sitting, for the moment, alone at a table.

Spotting him, the mother walked over holding out her hand, and happily asked him how he knew the happy couple. Then she added. “I’m the groom’s mother.”

Now I’m not exactly sure of his actions at this point, but I can imagine he didn’t take her hand and he may well have rolled his eyes or audibly sighed in an exasperated manner. All I do know is what he responded. “I know Grace.” (Yes, her name is Grace.) “I’m the groom’s father.”

Now I did not have the good fortune to be able to attend this blessed event due to distance and the impending arrival of my firstborn. But when I heard about it well after the fact I found it hilarious that she hadn’t recognized him and went so far as to introduce herself to the man she had four children with.

This wedding took place thirty years ago this fall. Both parents have since passed on. The bride and groom are now grandparents and due to multiple strokes, he is in the last years of dementia. So the only ones who were at the wedding and can remember it are the bride and the groom’s then stepmother.

All I have is the memory of Dad telling me about his encounter with Momma at Bryon’s wedding.

What memories bring a smile to your face? I’d love to hear them. Let’s give everyone something to smile about.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.