Picture just because I liked it.
Hope it's apt.
I went
back to the past twice yesterday and today, and I guess what I learned is that
it is never the same—good, but not the same. Yesterday, Melinda, who worked
with me for over ten years at TCU Press and became a special friend, picked me
up for an outing to the TCU Press Christmas book sale and then lunch. I worried
a lot about the physical aspects of this—tiny though she is, Melinda drives a
huge SUV. Would I be able to get up into it? (It was touch and go at first, but
then I mastered it, except poor Melinda had to fetch a stepstool and my walker
every time I got out—I was afraid she’d swear she was never going anywhere with
me again; she has denied that). Then I worried about the long hallway and
rather steep ramp at the alumni center. I made it down the ramp just fine, by
holding on to the railing with one hand, while Melinda parked the car. Then it
turned out we were in the wrong part of the building, and I had to turn around
and go right back up that blasted ramp. But it too was okay.
The book
sale was a nostalgia trip for me. I barely knew the staff that were there, but
I met the new marketing manager, with whom I had some correspondence, and we
had a good visit. I’m hoping to get with him after the holidays, because I want
to tell him about some programs we did in the past. But the big thing to me was
browsing the books for sale, recalling this title and that, the work that went
into them, the authors I’d worked with. Reminded me of a really good time in my
life, with work that made me happy. Sad that several authors have now left us—and
proof that I am getting older, as if I didn’t already know that. I spent two
dollars and came away with four books, three of which I meant as gifts. Gave
Jordan hers, only to find out they already have it.
Lunch
was great. Melinda and I always have lots to talk about and laugh heartily,
from family doings to politics—okay, the latter is not so funny. But we have a
great time getting caught up. And we splurged—had wine with our lunch, and I
had a lobster Cobb salad. Good, but the lobster was watery, like it had just
been defrosted.
Tonight,
Jean and I went to the Tavern for supper—sat on the patio, because it is quieter
and the weather was balmy, though we are expecting storms later tonight. I had
the hamburger I’ve been craving for days. We ordered a fire-roasted artichoke for
an appetizer but almost couldn’t eat it—way too much pepper. After dinner, we
went on an extended tour of several neighborhoods to look at the Christmas
lights. Sometimes they all blur together, sort of look-alikes, so it was fun to
find a house here or there with imaginative and different decorations. We agree
we are both fans of lights but not blow-up Santas and related figures.
On one
street in Berkeley, my neighborhood, all the houses have pitched roofs, some
with more than one pitch and all outlined in white lights. Made a real cool
picture when you looked down the street. Jean’s favorite, ever year she says,
is a tree on Colonial Parkway that is decorated with rather delicate purple lights
and then strings let hanging loose from the tips of branches, sort of like a
weeping plant basket.
It was
particularly fun for me to ride through Berkeley because I could tell Jean who
lives there and what the history of that house is, the house designed by the first
woman architect recognized in Texas and the only true art deco house in the
neighborhood. I realize I’ve lived in Fort Worth over fifty-five years and
spent almost thirty of them in Berkeley.
I
guess nostalgia is one of the joys aging brings. At this time of year—and many
other times—I look back on a lot of good memories. My life has been full of
memory-making incidents, large and small, and I am grateful. Tonight, looking
at lights, I remembered countless trips to join the bumper-to-bumper traffic around
Luther Lake where there were the most creative lights and their reflection in
the water made them extra special. For the kids, each year it was a new and
wonderful experience all over again. Tonight, because I hadn’t gone
light-looking in several years, it was once again new and wonderful.
I
remember other magic moments at Christmas—the look on a grandchild’s face during
the Christmas Eve candlelight service when the sanctuary was darkened and
everyone raised a candle as they sang, “Silent Night, Holy Night.” The look on
children’s faces when first allowed to the tree on Christmas morning—by then
they’d been awake and impatient a long time, having to wait for the adults to
get going. Christmas always was and always will be magic. Despite the fact that
all the little ones in my family are teens, I look forward to new memories this
year.
And
then, there is always reality. I just read a post where Facebook wanted to
share my memories. From ten years ago, it said Jacob arrived in a grumpy mood
and told me how mean I was. Win some lose some, but even that is a treasured
memory.
