memories – Page 104 – beckycochrane.com

Legacy Writing 365:292

These ribbons were awarded to a couple of abstract paintings I entered in my high school art show when I was a junior or senior. I think the paintings are still around somewhere, because my mother saved them. I always felt as if my last name, rather than the art, might have snared those ribbons. (Assistant principal’s daughter…)

I liked art class, though, even the incident that resulted in a cracked tailbone. Sorry; shared that story once on my blog, and not only did a hapless former fellow student get “info stalked” and exposed in my comments, but it ended with lies being told about me. I took that entry private. The Internet can be treacherous.

I did a truly horrific painting of a bird that somehow got moved around with my stuff for years until I finally threw it away. I hope it’s long since decomposed in some landfill.

My favorite part of the three years of art I took was when the school got a kiln and we worked with clay. I didn’t make anything particularly noteworthy or innovative, but it was still fun. I made something for Lynne that she may or may not still have. My personal favorite was a blue ashtray that I made. I never used it as an ashtray–I usually kept it on my dresser to put my watch, rings, and other jewelry in before I went to bed at night. In the early 1990s, Mother lived with us for a time, and she did use it for an ashtray. She was washing it one day and broke it.

One time when I was at my brother’s place in Nevada, I spotted an ashtray that he made in high school on a table outside his house. My mother used it for years. She also used an ashtray Debby made until she stopped smoking just before she died. I think that may have been returned to Debby. And I remember a little yellow clay pot, but I don’t know which of them made it or who may have it now.

Of the clay pieces I made, I believe this little bottle is the only thing I have.

Legacy Writing 365:291

My siblings and I haven’t all lived in the same city, or sometimes even the same state, except sporadically since I was around eleven. I stayed in Alabama for a long time even after they wandered, until Tom and I moved to Texas. I felt–and still feel–fortunate every time we’re together, usually on holidays, sometimes for sad occasions, sometimes for happy ones. It’s funny how easily we slip back into our roles as oldest, middle, and youngest child when we’re together, even though we’ve been adults for a LONG time. At least a decade and a half in my case. 😉

Three of my favorite people–Josh, Sarah, and Gina–have gotten to become adults together with only a couple of separations. They’ve been there for the births of one another’s children, for all the happy and challenging life events. They still have fun together. They’re still all friends, and friends with their other-halfs. They party together, work out together, celebrate holidays together, sometimes travel together. They support the varied interests among them, and help take care of one another’s kids.

For the first time now, all three of them will be living in different states. I know what it’s like to miss your brother and sister(s). The adjustments are big. Even though social media keeps us closer and able to share more about our daily lives, it’s not the same, I know, as being able to drop into each other’s houses, shop together, share a pizza (or sushi?), play a game, go for a run or to a movie.

But I promise you, the bonds you’ve formed are powerful. No time apart, no distance, will ever break them. And every time you get to be together, it’ll be as if you were never apart. I always say the greatest gifts my parents ever gave me were David and Debby. I’m so glad the three of you have each other and share so much love.

You’ll always be a strong three.

Love,
Aunt Becky

Legacy Writing 365:289

A few posts back I showed you the little stuffed Dumbo my sister gave me in honor of her nickname for me in younger days because of my big ears. Don’t think I didn’t give as good as I got, because my nickname for her was “Buck.” This was because I was always trying to convince her that she had buck teeth. While she was here, she pulled out a couple of photos of herself and said, “Here. They’re sticking out in this photo.” The thing is, they aren’t, because though she has healthy-sized front teeth and the tiniest little overbite, her two front teeth don’t actually protrude. So I guess…she didn’t really…deserve the nickname.

I’m still saying she should be a little cautious about using that “What’s up, Doc?” line, though.

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This is an old Polaroid photo in such terrible condition that I couldn’t even see who was in it. After I scanned it and did a lot of lighting and contrast adjustment, I can see that it’s me on my trusty bike. Also, because of some of the landscape that I cropped since it was so discolored and scratched, I could figure out where it was taken and so know that I was probably eleven.

Strangely, in spite of how murky the photo is, I know exactly what I’m holding. It’s a red plastic devil head on a stick. Either these were sold full of Halloween candy or they were somehow tied in to the school where my brother and Terri graduated, whose mascot was the Red Devils. I’ve looked in vain for an image of something similar online, so maybe someone else remembers.

Legacy Writing 365:287

Don’t we look like we were good friends?

Yet I no longer remember her name.

I do remember she’s the only person in my entire lifetime that I ever got into a physical fight with. I don’t remember why.

I also don’t know who won, but I remember coming away from it with a hand full of blonde hair.

Sorry, Nameless Girl. I wonder if our fight had something to do with someone stealing my bear (which I recovered) and my doll (which I never found)? Theft and destruction of my property were reasons I told my mother from the time I was about three, “I don’t like to play with children.”

Legacy Writing 365:286

A rare picture of Aunt Lola, Uncle Gerald’s wife. I don’t remember their kitchen at all, probably because when we visited, there were plenty of women and older girls around to help her get meals together and clean up afterward.

I’m sure there are still places and occasions when all the women gather in the kitchen and the men are elsewhere, though it’s not that way at The Compound. I can’t complain about the “old days” in the kitchen, because that’s where you could hear a lot of the good stuff. And by good stuff I mean family scandals, checkered histories, and medical tales about “female troubles” and bizarre home remedies.

I remember there were times when Aunt Lola stayed in the kitchen while the rest of us were eating in the dining room. I don’t know why she did it, but I know on some occasions when my mother’s house was full of people that she wished she had a door on the kitchen just to get some peace and quiet. Maybe that’s what Lola was doing, and I wouldn’t blame her.

The electric percolator she’s holding here: Lynne still uses one like it. She says it makes better coffee, and she may be right. I remember when my parents used metal percolators on the stove. Lynne still has a couple of those, too, and Debbie and I had one when we were in college. I didn’t like using it, because my coffee always ended up full of grounds.

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Something that’s been interesting to me during this year of compiling legacy writing posts is that it forced me to go through all my mother’s photos. After her death in 2008, I found that whenever I opened the trunk where I’d stored them, I could look at a few pictures, then I would start feeling out of breath, and I’d have to put it all away. These are the kinds of things we do when we’re ready, and if we can’t predict when that will be, we have to remember that no one else can, either. After years of listening to and trying to comfort people through losses, I’ve repeated so many times, “Grief has no timetable and no expiration date. Every loss is different, and every individual has a unique coping and healing process.”

Somehow it’s harder to say that to oneself, but fortunately, there are others who will remind me from time to time. I’ve found since April, I can’t look at any of Aaron’s baby pictures without feeling that same out-of-breath sensation, so I don’t push myself.

Many years ago, Lynne made a little outfit for a bunny for me from some fabric we both liked. I asked if she could make bears from that fabric, too. There was only enough fabric for one bear, so we dubbed him “Share Bear,” and said that sometimes he’d stay at my house, and sometimes at her house. Funny thing is, I think I’ve had him ever since! She’s probably forgotten about him.

Here, you see the Bunny and Share Bear posed in front of some flowers that Debby brought to The Compound and arranged (I’m sorry that they appear to be growing out of Share Bear’s head; they’re actually in a beautiful vase our friend Sarena gave me a long time ago).

I was reminded of Share Bear and the Bunny when I was putting some old photos away. I saw the envelope with Aaron’s name, and I randomly reached in and pulled out a photo without looking through them. Here’s the one I picked.

I don’t know who might have made Aaron’s bear, but it looks similar in pattern and fabric to Share Bear. I didn’t know Aaron when he was a baby. We lived so far apart that he was already eight when I met him in November of 2001. I’ll probably share that story and some photos from the occasion next month.

Little steps…

Legacy Writing 365:284

October 10 is Tom’s mother’s birthday. I’ve said it before: I really lucked out in the in-law department. I try to maintain online privacy for Tom and his family, but I can’t let such a special day go by without recognition. Not only did she give me Tom, but she’s given me a constant flow of love and support through the years since I first met her.

Mary has boundless compassion, generosity, and love and respect for nature. She’s deeply spiritual. She’s creative as a painter, a poet, a memoirist, and a needlewoman. Her children (five) and grandchildren (five) are fortunate to have her as an example, a teacher, a parent, a grandparent, and a friend.

Through the years, she’s encouraged and read my writing and been kind about my art. My brothers-in-law (married to Tom’s sisters) and I are loved as unconditionally as her children–and she loves all her granddogs, too (not to mention the occasional rabbit, hamster, toad, fish, and turtle).

I’m sure this photo was taken by Tom’s father on one of their many adventures. They still travel the world together and come back to the wonderful home they’ve created–and to their dog Sparkle.

Happy birthday, Mary!

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Today (Tuesday) is John Lennon’s birthday. I’ve told several John Lennon stories, including those associated with my late friend Riley, on my blog before. This time, I’m going to share someone else’s memories.

On Monday, Tom, Debby, and I went to Galveston. They’ve rebuilt the Pleasure Pier, a site with a long and rich hurricane-impacted history. Though none of us wanted to go on the rides, I did want to shoot photos. So Debby and Tom left me to it and walked along the beach looking for shells and enjoying a stunning day on a calm Gulf.

Disclaimer: Tom is not a smart phone person, so though it may look as if he’s staring at a phone as many of us Phone Zombies do, he’s probably examining a shell he picked up.

There was a live band playing on the Pleasure Pier. Most of what I heard sounded pretty good, though they did commit the nearly unpardonable crime of playing “Sweet Home Alabama.” You’d think, with my heritage, I’d love hearing that song, especially when I live several states from my homeland. But honestly, I heard enough of it in my youth to make me cringe whenever I hear those first guitar licks. So other than that, they sounded fine.

Later, I found out that while they were walking, Debby and Tom were also listening to the band, and when they played the Beatles’ “I Want to Hold Your Hand,” she reminisced to him about dancing to that song with her first boyfriend at her very first dance in the seventh grade. Or rather, as she called it, a “sock hop.” As she explained, the dances were held in the school gym, and so their shoes didn’t mess up the floor the basketball players used for their games, the kids danced in their sock (or stocking) feet.

Now really, who wouldn’t want to hold her hand?

Just before I left the pier to meet up with Debby and Tom, I grabbed this shot from the Rock and Roll ride.

The Beatles, collectively and individually, are part of the soundtrack of millions of lives. I wish we could have had all the music a few bullets denied us. John Lennon, you are still loved, remembered, and missed worldwide.

Peace.

Legacy Writing 365:281

Something I haven’t mentioned is that Lynne decided to sell Green Acres. It was a wonderful home with beautiful grounds where Jess grew from a toddler to a young man, but for a number of reasons, it became time for a change. One day I’m sure I’ll be sharing photos of her new place, and no matter what, I know it will have gorgeous grounds because gardening is one of Lynne’s passions. Meanwhile, some of her potted plants are on loan at The Compound, and since I am not exactly known for my green thumb, I’m hoping she plans to make regular visitations.

During the move, when Tom and Jess were putting items into storage, Jess apparently talked about some of the cats from Green Acres’ history. Coincidentally, I’d been planning to post a couple of my favorite cat photos today in honor of Jess’s birthday. Happy birthday, Jess!

Lynne once had a dog named Pepper, and when a new kitten came to Green Acres, Jess said he wanted another spice name. We went through a list, and he settled on Ginger. In one way it didn’t make sense, because the cat wasn’t red, but since I’m the person who encouraged Daniel to name his rocking horse Fido, I’m all in favor of defying standard name practices. Ginger he was. Except Craig either never remembered Ginger or didn’t like the name, because he always called Ginger “Bubba.” In time, the rest of us called him Bubba, too.

Bubba was an outside cat–he wouldn’t have had it any other way because Green Acres was surrounded by lots of undeveloped land ideal for feline stalking and exploring. Unfortunately, this lifestyle can leave long, flowing cat hair matted and tangled, and so it was that Bubba once needed a somewhat severe haircut.

I don’t think Bubba was amused, but I sure was. (Aside: Lynne recently found out the wooden toy box Bubba stands on in this photo was built by her father.)

Since I was so rude as to laugh hysterically during Bubba’s photo session, Jess was quick to comfort him. I especially like the tuft of hair at the end of Bubba’s tail.

Speaking of hairdos, during the time of this photo, Jess’s hair was mullet cut–buzzed in the front with some length in the back that ended in a rattail. I’ve read that the rattail is making a comeback. However, I’m not sure any cats will bring the Bubba cut back into vogue.