The Coat of Many Memories

While searching for some paint supplies today I ran across a treasured item that I haven't seen for a few months. My youngest daughter's little red winter coat with its bright yellow lining beckoned to me. I couldn't resist the urge to pull it off the hanger and hold it close, imagining her at the age of six proudly walking into school, Minnie Mouse bookbag slung loosely over her shoulder, her blue mittened hand waving me on, blonde hair wisping beneath the bright hood snugged around her tiny, smiling face. I could picture her as she disappeared through the doors, heading down the hallway to her classroom and her friends. Everything she needed for the day would be neatly packed into her bag, milk money secured in the tiny Tuxedo Sam wristband coinpurse easily accessible in the little velcro pocket on one side of her bag, lifesavers and sweettarts tucked into the pocket on the other side of the bag. Inside the bag her homework would be protected inside a folder, neatly waiting to be turned in during class. Her blue plastic school box would be filled with pens and pencils, safety scissors, Elmer's glue, a box of Crayola crayons, and tiny assorted erasers in a small round plastic case. In the pocket of her coat would be a travel packet of Kleenex and some stickers she got from the many trips to the doctor and hospital during the course of her battle with the brain tumor lurking in her head. She would make her way down the hall just a bit unsteadily, a result of the surgery that bought her more time in the world she so wanted to be a part of. Her classmates would greet her tenderly, understanding even at their young age that she was fragile. She would tell them jokes and share her stickers, then take her place at her desk for a normal day of classwork and fun. She loved school. I would have liked to keep her home all day with me, to take in as much time with her as possible, but she needed to live like any other child her age, surrounded by the noise and chaos, the laughter and singing, the structure of the classroom. When she walked back out those doors in the afternoon she would be smiling, full of chatter about her day and all that went on in class. I miss her terribly even after twenty years but seeing her little red coat fills my heart with the sunshine that she was.

Fresh Start

Over the past week I have been painting again. This time I repainted my bedroom and bathroom after having some plaster work done. As much as I dreaded picking up the paintbrush, once I got started I began to feel a sense of peaceful satisfaction. I love the warm, comforting creamy beige color that is replacing the very light lemony yellow that has been surrounding me in slumber for the past ten years. The slightly darker tone in the bathroom adds just a bit of contrast without being too overpowering. I am holding out on painting over my terracotta orange cabinet in the bath though. I simply have to have a little splash of boldness to keep it from being boring. So until we are nearly ready to put our house on the market this spring/summer I will leave the cabinet as it is. The curtains have been washed and rehung, the baseboards wiped clean, the cobwebs cleared, and the dark, scary recesses under the bed freshly vacuumed. With everything clean and dusted and placed back where it belongs I wanted to just lie on the bed and enjoy the freshness of it all, to soak in the calm, clean look of the room before the wear and tear of daily living takes its toll and the freshness wears off.

DayTripping

When I was a child my family couldn't afford to take week-long vacations. Instead, my mother would take us on day trips. Most of these trips were randomly planned, usually at the last moment, but the prospect of getting out of our little town to explore new places was as exciting to us as a real vacation. In the days before seat belt laws we would take our assigned places in the big Buick. My grandmother, who almost always went with us, would sit in the back seat to supervise me and my two brothers while my oldest sister usually got to sit in the broad front seat with my mother. Depending on their age, my little sister and my second oldest sister would be scrunched in wherever there was room. My grandmother made little cloth-covered booster seats so we could see out the windows. With the picnic basket and cooler tucked into the huge trunk we would set off, stopping by the old neighborhood grocery store to stock up with sodas, gum, and other assorted goodies. Then we would hit the road, never knowing exactly what my mother had in mind for the day. Would it be a trip to a state park where we could hike the paths and explore nature, working up an appetite before spreading out the picnic fare in a shelterhouse? Or perhaps a day at an amusement park where we would thrill to the rides and laugh ourselves silly in the funhouse as we attempted to stay upright on the various tilting, turning, shaking objects? Or would our trip take on a more educational tone as we learned about the locks and dam on the Ohio river, a historic village where we could see how pioneers lived, or a telephone museum? Would we seek out covered bridges along the way? Would we go horseback riding? Or would we head to the city to visit seldom seen relatives? No matter where we went we were ready and willing to take on the day. Those trips not only broadened our horizons but they simultaneously tied us to each other for a lifetime. Perhaps with the change in the economy more families will be seeking out their own day trips, exploring the area they live in, learning and sharing along the way.