Skip to main content

Memory Box



You have the side door open.

I see this while driving by. The busy intersection where your house sits on the corner lot. It used to be my grandmother's house. No doubt it's had several owners.

Seeing the open door, looking in to the kitchen, I am reminded of the days gone by when Gummy used to live there. That expansive, yet simple kitchen. We would sometimes sit and drink coffee or tea or soda in that kitchen, around the big table that could seat upwards of six people. We'd sit and chat, my grandmother, my mother and I. Sometimes others. Friends of the family. Spoons and cups clinking on the saucers.

Do you know that a grandmother cooked for her little grandson in that kitchen? She did. She would make his favorite food: macaroni & cheese. She'd try and make it as good as she could, because that is what all good grandmothers do. It would be full of shells covered in butter and lots of gooey cheese. And it was awesome, because it was tasty, and because it was made with love.

The living room was right off of the kitchen. That's where Gummy and I would eat the mac & cheese she'd made, talk, and watch TV. We would camp out there on overnight stays, on the pull-out sofa bed. One time I had us watch my favorite movie, Amadeus, and I think she liked it.

It was always a treat to head over to Gummy's house. Now it's your house. As noted earlier, it's had many owners. Each of them have created memories there, both good and bad. The ones I have of my grandmother were mostly good. I hope yours are, too.

You see what you did by having that side door open as I drove by the other night? Being able to see into that kitchen a bit, it brought back those memories like a rush of blood to the head. And what a rush.

So, please, take care of that house. Somewhere in that memory box are the traces of a wonderful older woman and her younger grandson, enjoying a time spent together that would never come again.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

If You Could Read My Mind

Dance clubs are a funny thing. They contain within their walls a life force and vibrancy sometimes unmatched anywhere else. When dusk settles and the lights come on, people will flood the dance floors to gyrate to music with hypnotic beats and songs about love, lust and fun at the disco. At gay bars, this sort of scenario usually increases ten-fold. It isn't for everyone, but for many it is a respite from the harsh realities of the real word. It is a place that isn't just a structure, but a sanctuary where folks -- minorities in their own communities -- can take shelter and unwind with abandon, at least for a few nighttime hours.
As someone who benefited greatly from such an aforementioned gay dance club, you can imagine my dismay at news of the closing of Chester Street Bar. In business for over three decades, gay-owned and operated, there was a time when C-Street (as it was known by most) was the only haven for those in the LGBT community, near and far, to enjoy themselves …

Third Death

My father has had three funerals. The third (though perhaps not final) one, was last night.
In reality, Lewis died in 1997. Cancer. Aged 52. He had a real funeral. I was there. The next two funerals occurred only in my dreams, yet they seemed real at the time, and their impact during the waking hours was keenly felt.
You see, during the intervening nineteen years, Lewis has come back to life in my dreams, many times. It is more than simply having a dream about him. During these nighttime images, it is noted that Lewis shouldn't be there, that he died of cancer and is resting six feet under. How, then, could he be alive and, seemingly, healthy?

Thoughts on an Election

Before I get started on the ruminations of the 2016 U.S. Presidential Election, I'll begin by saying I really have no clue as to who our next president will be. I've always fretted over the outcome of elections, regardless of the polls, and this year is no different. Especially this year. A good case can be made as to why Hillary Clinton will become our 45th president. All one has to do is look at the polls. Clinton has a comfortable lead in many states, enough to make one think that she will win handily on November 8th.
Of course, polls can be wrong. 538 gives Clinton's changes of winning in the low-mid 80 percent range. Several polls would seem to agree. Many Republicans are jumping ship from Trump. The race looks over. But of course, humanity isn't as easily predictable as polling would have us believe. Things happen. People can surprise us. And, for better or worse, I think that Donald Trump may very well become our next president.