Time is Elastic

Think of memories as beautiful jewels strung on a sturdy piece of elastic. Each memory is full of color and light and evocative of a distinct time in your life, filled with people as they were. The hairdos may be different, certainly the styles will be different, and most noteably the wrinkles on a loved one's face will be different. 

But the elastic that ties together these glimpses of a past event is fickle. Sometimes the elastic is taut and the memory is within reach, details fully present. Other times the elastic is overstretched and saggy, and the memory is vague and frustratingly just out of reach. 

Memories come unbidden to my 97 year old mother as they will, but when they are beckened, they notoriously hide behind a veil of fog. When Mom and I get nostalgic, I might say "Mom, do you remember when..." and she will respond with "I can't quite remember, can you remind me?" It's a call and response performed between generations for as long as there have been elders and their children. 

This morning, after a remarkedly good night's sleep, Mom awoke delighted with three distinct memories. 

AUNT VIVIAN 

Aunt Vivian was my paternal grandmother's sister-in-law  lived with her in herwith whom she lived in her snug little home in Boykins, VA for many years. As a young child, I remember Aunt Vivian being smartly dressed with a typlical 60s wash and set and eyeglasses, formal and ladylike. I delighted in spending time  at her home with "Mom" in my very early years. My grandmother introduced me to sewing (I wish I had paid more attention), thrift shopping (I paid attention), and Star Trek  (I most definitely paid attention.) But she always made sure I behaved around Aunt Vivian. 

As formal as she might seem, Aunt Vivian was always considered  part of our extended family, included in all our Draper get-togethers. But whenever a meal or a Christmas party was being planned Aunt Vivian always, always made sure to tell us "I can't eat nuts." We were not unsympathetic, but it was repeated time and time again. To my memory there was never a jello mold with walnuts or pecan pie. Nuts were verboten, and we were diligent in our avoidance of them. We had heard in detail about Aunt Vivian's diverticulitis. 

My sister, Elaine, nine years older than myself, my mom and I weaponized this oft repearted phrase for years. If Mom was cooking or the topic of baking came up, one of us would innocently drop the bombshell into conversation, "Well, you know, Aunt Vivian can't eat nuts." Oh, we knew alright. We'd been told 50,000 thousand times. And the fact we knew so well would invariably set off cascades of giggles. Each useage funnier than the last. Making fudge? "Aunt Vivian can't eat nuts." Picking up a slim packet of Tom's peanuts at the Drugstore? "Did you know Aunt Vivian can't eat nuts?"  Eating a slice of my mom's Date Nut Cake? "Poor Aunt Vivian can't eat nuts."

So this morning, my mother looked at me with a wicked gleam and stated gleefully, "Aunt Vivian can't eat nuts!" 

NELL AND THE GIRL SCOUT CAMPOUT

When I was in the 4th grade, Momma became our Girl Scout leader  along with her friend Bert Ramsey. She had a heart for it and the town girls flocked to join. We did all kinds of fun things from "laying trails" at the town cemetary, riding bikes from Ramsey's Crossroads (3ish miles!) or camping. Mom and Dad would borrow pup tents from the local Boy Scouts and we'd camp in the yard of Frances Magee on the edge of Jordan Lake. We'd work toward badges, swim, cook out complete with s'mores, and settle in for a night in our tents. And like any campout, Girl Scouts or Cub Scouts with my own kids, it rained. So there was damp, there was rain pattering on the tent, there was wind, and there was dark. broken only by the thin beam of our flashlights. 

On our first campout, one of our younger campers was Nell, who was two years younger than myself. She was the younger sister of my girlfriend, Jill, and was a bit of a minx. Always full of fun and mischief, she threw herself into everything we did whether making pinwheel pimento sandwhiches or sit-upons (IYKYK). On her first night camping, bereft without her best friend Danya, homesick and possibly slightly spooked, she made her way to Mom and Dad's tent and as Mom remembers, spent the night with them. 

So Mom's second memory this morning was "I remember when we went camping at Gaston Lake and little Nell crept into the tent with Jack and I!" 

Mom and her Girl Scouts. And me with the striped pants which  I have thankfully blocked from my memories. Nell is front right.

TEACHING SUNDAY SCHOOL AND PRUDEN'S OFFICE SUPPLY

One of Mom's more enduring memories is her time teaching Sunday School at Seaboard United Methodist Church. She taught for 50 years, originally for the high school/young adult class and later for the whole church. Mom prepared diligently for each lesson, researching the day's scripture and bringing in contemporary stories to add additional meaning. I saw her many times in our living room with her red pencil, making notes and underlining passages in preparation for Sunday.

Part of her process was going to Pruden's Office Supply in Roanoke Rapids, NC to purchase each year's Tarbell's Teacher's Guide to the Internation Sunday School Lesson. I loved to tag along to Prudent's. I can remember the scent of crisp new paper and the shelves of books. In fact, I very specifically remember when I was 3 or 4 years old and having a tantrum because my Mom wouldn't buy me the cutest litttle Joan Walsh Anglund book. Apparently I was so out of sorts that the shopkeeper wanted to give it to me, but of courst Mom said a very definitive "no." 

Despite the trauma of being denied a book I desperately needed, (the reason for my book hoarding today?) we continued to enjoy going to buy the lesson book year after year. The promise of new year of teaching and learning brought her great joy. She often remarked that she learned more than her students did. 

So this morning, at 97 and a half years old, Mom was given the gift of the memory of what she considers one of her proudest accomplishments, and what I consider her biggest gift to others: fifty years of service, Sunday after Sunday, to the members of our church. The lessons she taught, and most noteably,  her witness in just being herself, touched so many lives. A memory, a jewel, to revisit and appreciate again and again. 

From the book, Our Church Then and Now (1958) in the ECU Digital Collection

                                                        Mom and my sister marked.