Life has been an adventure and I just realized that sounds like it is coming to an end. That isn’t what I mean, but after seventy-seven years on this orb, I have much to look back on. Education was fun and my career was satisfying, but pure joy only comes from sharing life with those you love. I am blessed by two wonderful daughters who brought sons into my life; even though they are called sons-in-law they are much more. Thirty years ago my first granddaughter was born followed seven years later by the second. It is hard to believe that it was so long ago because my memories of them as children seem so fresh.
From the beginning of their lives, they spent a lot of time with their Grandfather, who they called Pop, and me, Grandmother. As they grew our games became more complex but none were more fun than pretend. The oldest, Katie, was an actress and she loved getting into character and acting out elaborate roles. Her younger sister, Elizabeth, was fine with pretend too, but also loved being outdoors following her Pop around as he worked.
As they got older we went on short vacations each year before school started. One year we went to Kings Island in Cincinnati and another we spent a few days taking in the sights of Chicago. We shopped for back-to-school clothes and before we knew it grade school became high school and then college. Their days of staying at Camp Grandmother and Pop’s may be over, but the fun memories remain forever.
i’m surrounded by evidence
of progress and infrastructure
in the asphalt serpent that i travel on . . .
the bridges of iron and concrete
that span a winding river . . .
the steel and glass monoliths
that stretch skyward
above a sprawling city . . .
as i snake past
the coldness of concrete and steel
i’m drawn into the perceived warmth
of a rose colored sunset . . .
a blanket of soft pinks and blues
pulled up against a western sky
i rumble across the river
on a double decker bridge
leaving one city behind
and entering another . . .
i am a child of nature
a woodland soul, as my name implies . . .
a lover of the earth
and all things celestial . . .
now rooted in an urban jungle . . .
as i turn down market street
past the tall inner-city structures . . .
there before me . . .
low on the eastern horizon . . .
hovers a full “beaver” moon . . .
bright and bold against the blue black sky
my mind is flooded with memories
of another beaver moon now three years past . . .
and memories of someone
who is as distant as the moon itself
on this wicked cold evening
Recently my youngest daughter and I took a drive down Crooked Creek Rd. The road winds along sticking pretty close to the creek by the same name. I’m sure I bored Allison silly with all my stories about things that had taken place here or there along the way back when this was a gravel road. It’s funny how things change in reality versus in our memories. I was shocked to see the small wood and iron bridge pictured here.
In my mind this bridge was huge, its sides were at least three stories high and the length over the creek surely could hold as many as four cars. Crossing this bridge and hearing the rumble of the wooden planks was the thing I looked forward to as a child when we’d make the trip from Gee to Mt. Eden. The trip seemed long. It wasn’t. The bridge seemed gigantic. It isn’t.
I wonder about another memory I have. Once a bakery truck wrecked on this bridge and strew doughnuts all over the road! It was an amazing sight. Such a tragic waste. Did it really happen? Now I wonder, but I can see it all in my mind.
“I believe that without memories there is no life and that our memories should be of happy times.” Lee Radziwill