Tag: memories

tax day

Back in 1980ish, I was living in a small Southern town. The main post office is on a four-lane boulevard that connects several towns over a thirty-mile or so stretch. These were the days when nothing was opened on Sunday, and all commerce–except restaurants–ended by six every other day of the week.

I was driving through town about ten one night when I noticed a crowd of people inside the post office. This was so far beyond normal that I circled back to find out what was going on. The post office was open until midnight for people who needed to make sure their tax returns had an April 15 date stamped on them.

There’s not much to do in small Southern towns, so this began a tradition for me. Every tax day, I’d drive by the post office of wherever I happened to be living and watch people frantically completing their tax returns before midnight. It was like a once-annually social club. People laughed, talked, helped each other fill out forms. They wrote out checks and bitched about taxes, or congratulated whoever was getting refunds.

Even in Houston, there are certain post offices that keep employees working until midnight to take mail by hand as people drive through. But even with machines that will dispense dated stamps, I haven’t seen a crowd at our two closest post offices in a long time. I think Turbo Tax put an end to tax socials.

Addition

I felt a little bad, because when I reread my last entry, I realized that I called my brother brilliant and said nothing about my sister, Debby–other than that she’s a big loser at progressive rummy. (heh heh)

She denies that she tried to kill me several times during my first few years on this planet, but other than that, she’s a great OLDER sister. She’s bolder, livelier, and more outgoing than I am. We had all the usual arguments as teenagers (mostly over phone and TV privileges, because those were the days when there was only one phone and one TV–with no remote!–in the house, and neither was in our room).

We sustained each other during our turbulent twenties, even when each of us thought the other might have lost her mind. She got married and had kids. I went to college. Later, she became a nurse. I continued to try to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up. Sometimes she’s the stable one. Other times, I am. We can go several months without talking, and even a year or so without seeing each other, but both of us know that should one of us need the other, that need will be met. (She just proved this to me again.)

I know that I’m very fortunate to get along with my brother and my sister, because that’s not always the case. Our relationships are not without their low points, but the great thing about getting older is that a lot of the things that annoyed us when we were growing up just aren’t important anymore.

For many years, I was awed by my sister’s work as a pediatric nurse. Very often, she dealt with terminally ill children, but she never stopped being strong and compassionate–and she never loses her sense of humor. Those qualities serve her well in her present work as a hospice nurse.

She’s pretty special, that sister of mine.

Traveling painter

When I was a freshman in college, an artist visited our campus for a few days, painting in the open air at our student center. It was amazing to watch him coat a canvas in paint, then use a variety of brushes, painting and palette knives, and I don’t know what else to rapidly create a still-life, usually a little bit of swamp, a little bit of flora…

My then-boyfriend surprised me with one of the paintings that Christmas. All I knew was the artist’s first name, Ron, and that he called his painting/performance “RonArt.” On a whim, I did a Google search and actually found another artist, Gill Pollard, who’d put this photo of Ron (Edwards) on his site.

Never mind how many years this takes me back, although the onlookers’ hairstyles should be a clue. I wonder whatever happened to Ron.

ETA 10/17/22: This is a photo of the painting my then-boyfriend gave me. It still hangs in my house today.

Across town, I am being underestimated

When Tom and I got married, Lynne, who’s been my friend since I was 12, made our wedding cake. Layer after layer, creating roses after roses from frosting… She was delirious by W-day.

A cousin of mine came to the wedding with her husband and left a gift on the gift table.
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Riley and me

Riley and I started being friends when I was 14. Several shared interests brought us together, among them The Hobbit, that we both thought of ourselves as writers, and our love of music. In Riley’s case, he actually was a musician who could play any instrument he picked up. He didn’t have the greatest singing voice in the world, but that was okay, because after all, didn’t we love Bob Dylan?
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