By Janice Lindsay
Contributing Writer
Sometimes I look to history to see what I missed because I wasn’t born yet. I recently asked Google what happened a hundred years ago, in October 1926.
The first notable event listed: Babe Ruth was the first major league player to hit three home runs in a single World Series game.
October. Baseball. World Series. My grandmother.
It was October 7, 1967. Grandma was short and a bit chubby, curly gray hair, sociable, and quick to smile especially at grandchildren. On that day, my mother’s family gathered in their local church hall to celebrate my grandparents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary. There were a lot of us. Their seven children were married and had children of their own. I am the oldest of 26 grandchildren. I was about to be married. The last person of my generation and the first of the next were both born that very year.
We all talked and laughed and ate, but Grandma’s mind was elsewhere. The Red Sox were playing in the World Series! This was the third game! The Sox had lost one and won one! This was important!
Grandma was a rabid Red Sox fan.
Someone discovered a little radio in the church kitchen. Several of the men bunched around it. Children acted as runners, reporting events to Grandma so she would know what was happening without being so rude as to leave the party and listen. While Grandma was always happiest when she had family all around her, I suspected that, on this one occasion, she would rather be home watching TV. (Sadness: the Sox lost that game and ultimately lost the series to the Cardinals, four games to three. So close!)
World Series time reminds me of Grandma.
Just as fresh strawberries remind me of my father’s father. When I was little, we lived in his house and benefited from his gardening expertise. My sister and I would take a little dish of sugar and settle ourselves in the warmth of his strawberry patch.
Nancy Drew books. My mother’s sister, who was only eight years older than me. She shared her collection with me.
Anybody’s pet rabbits. Surprises. When we were little, our parents bought us each a rabbit, two rabbits, both “guaranteed female.” After a year, we had forty rabbits.
Yellow Volkswagen Beetle. Being pregnant. My very first new car was a yellow Bug, bought the same month I became pregnant with our son. I was nauseous all day, every day, for three months. The sight of a yellow Bug brings it all back.
Stainless steel mixing bowl. My friend Joyce. We’ve been friends since 1964. She gave me a set of stainless steel mixing bowls when we were married, and I still use them.
Thunderstorms remind me of Uncle Ralph. One summer night when we were young, lightning struck our house and the kitchen light went out. Mom called the fire department. Down the street roared the fire truck, sirens blaring, and into our kitchen charged Uncle Ralph, Mom’s older brother, in full fire chief regalia; in this all-volunteer fire department, it was his turn to be chief. We were so impressed! (The house was fine, only the light was affected.)
I could go on and on. Couldn’t we all? Our lives are touched by so many people – at so many times – involving so many objects and events and songs and scents – and we carry all these with us in a rich internal tapestry.
So – hollyhocks. Our parents’ bedroom window. My first hummingbird.
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