A Word Edgewise |
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A Word Edgewise |
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Last Updated 01/20/06
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Memory Books Bring Warm Feelings
I remember my mother telling me, “Don’t meddle,” with certain incentives to make sure I heard and heeded. Especially, when we visited others, she insisted that meddling was not a practice to be tolerated. By the term “meddling”she meant that, without permission, I was not to look into drawers, open doors to closets, prowl through boxes, meddle with things not my own.
It would seem that I did not pass along those admonitions to this daughter of mine who is visiting this week. Of course, we want her to feel at home, we humor all of her tastes and desires such as cooking her favorite dishes, setting the temperature to her cold natured comfort, watching her TV choices. We love her and bite our tongues to keep from correcting her as the child we have cherished through the years. But she meddles! I must confess she has dug up some pleasant memories connected with a pair of little glasses I wore when I was about seven years old and ones her brother Pat wore when he was about the same age. One thing she found was a little book, about three by five inches big with about twenty-four pages. The title is MEMORANDUM, but the content is notes written to me by my classmates in 1936. I recall that at that time, Memory Books were very much in demand. Most were made especially for the purpose, but mine was make-do. Everyone want one, and to be asked to write in someone’s memory book was a great honor. We all wanted a little verse to write, but some of us just wrote notes. Let me give you a sample:
One signed “Wanda”, and I think that must have been Wanda Hamilton, Tomlinson, says, “Remember the red bird, remember the lark, remember the night we kissed in the park.” She even honored me with two verses: If you see a possom going up a tree, pull his tale and think of me.” LaVerne Carr wrote, “Sure as the vine grows around the stump, you are my darling sugar lump.”
Maybe the verses were not so well suited, but who were we to judge. We were about 12 years old then and our writing and spelling were improving as fast as our growing. Some words need imagination to decipher. Estelle Dawson wrote, “Remember the blue bird, remember the dove, remember the day we fell in love.” Martha Ruth Stephens wrote that she would always be my friend, but someone else had gotten her poem. Lorene Bingham wanted to be sure I got the Valentine she sent. Juanita Read wrote, “Roses are red, violets are blue, sugar is sweet, and so are you.” She also reminded me of the possum tail. That possum was a popular animal. Sammie Stephens also wrote of him. George Sherrill wanted to be remembered. Rayford Goodman said he wanted to be old enough to join 4-H Club and go to Ft. Worth. Those of us in the club got to go to the Ft. Worth Fat Stock Show. Evidently he was not ten years old. Raymond Carr didn’t write much but wished he had a little book like this. He and Samuel Ham were looking forward to March when the trip to Ft. Worth would take place.
Joe Hugh Smith went with J Ed and us to Galveston. He wanted to go again. Charles Sherrill just wrote so I would remember him when I am old. (maybe I will.) Dorothy Martin wrote about red roses, and after that the pages are blank. Could be Miss Atha McIlroy thought we were spending more time in memory books than in class study—and she was probably right. Melissa, the daughter, said she had such writings in her high school yearbooks, but never saw little books like this—and we never saw yearbooks.
Recalling the classmates, several of whom are no longer alive, was pleasant, so I guess I’ll excuse this meddling daughter. She does have some endearing qualities, and a few other valuable ones. Her visit with us has been another memory to cherish. May you have special ones to warm you this cool season. Nothing like family and a good book to make you feel cozy and warm.