Karin Hanson
Once Upon a Long Walk
I remember a time
when my legs were strong
and my heart had no fear.
I was able to walk in solitude and wonder for miles
all afternoon on a sunny fall day.
I remember a trail at Mauthe Lake, WI,
where I entered a forest rich in autumn colors.
I remember the surprise of evergreens
heady with the scent that
now I can only smell briefly on
my 20 minute walk past a
neighbor's pine tree
next to the sidewalk
near my home.
...Sigh,
I remember.
Evelyn Kain
Not-so-Treasured Memories: A Baptismal Dress
My father and I were not close, so I really had to wrestle with my emotions surrounding this ritual garment. I envy people who were close to their fathers. It seems simpler (even if it isn’t). The few “stories” I summarize in the text above are vaguely understood half-truths, somehow passed down years ago, but they’re the truth about how I feel today. The text might read as wooden, heartless, and more on the rueful side but unfortunately that’s my recollection. My father was never mean, only indifferent in a way that reads as rejection to a child. I am the youngest of three siblings, and the one who traveled the world, while they stayed put, so how I came into possession of this dress is a mystery. My family has never been sentimental, and did not talk much, so I have no idea. Remarkable is also how the dress stayed in good condition after a century of being balled up in a plastic bag. I’m not happy with what I wrote, but I can always change it. In fact, I might start revising right now.
Pamela Phillips Olson
The Ivory Button
This piece is about and dedicated to my mother, Fanne Rubens Phillips,
a loving, bright woman, who in spite of limited means gave me a wonderful childhood and nurtured my imagination.
My mother was called Fagele* in Yiddish. The youngest of six children born to Jewish immigrants in 1908, she always wore hand-me-downs. Being the youngest in the extended family, the clothes were well worn by the time they reached her.
When she turned twelve Fagele, her sisters and mother took the ferry from Staten Island to Manhattan, then a bus, to the Lower East Side to buy her first new dress.
It was a brown crushed velvet, and she treasured it. She loved it so much that for over 80 years she kept an ivory carved button from it. She handed the button down for me to keep in turn.
In her seventies, she became a writer, an artist, and a poet. In her poem “Mother” she remembers a time when her own mother (pictured upper right) remembered her mother.
Mother
When I was a very young girl,
My mother told to me,
Shedding a tear or two,
That on this Purim ** day
It was forty years since her mother
had died
Puzzled, I looked at her and thought,
How can she remember her after
all those years---so long ago?
Now it is forty years that my mother is gone and
When I told my daughter---it seemed
just yesterday.
I thought for a while, and felt the joy I gave to her
and the love she gave to me
So long ago.
My mother died in her mid 90’s. She left many drawings, sculptures and needle works as well as stories about her life. She is often quoted by my sons, who treasured her.
*Fagele means little bird in Yiddish
**Purim is an ancient Jewish holiday celebrating survival
Peggy Thornton
Nature’s Wonder
Many things create memories that stay with us throughout our lives. Nature’s surprises are such things. The first time seeing a rainbow, watching a raccoon washing his food before eating it, and the cheerful and persistent song of a wren are some examples. We are sometimes struck with awe and wonder by nature.
One such experience for me is fairly recent. A few years ago was the first time I examined a milkweed pod. The variety of textures were interesting. The roughness of the outside of the pod contrasted with the soft white surface attached to the seeds. The surprise for me was when I picked one of the seeds free and the beautiful white silk attached to it fluffed out and more seeds and fluff followed, some floating in the air. I was delighted. Who would guess that all that fluff had been so tightly packed into the pod? How far would those delicate strands carry the seed? How many new plants would be started from one pod?
Nature provides us solace and relief from everyday responsibilities, but it also creates lasting memories of special moments and wonder.
Peggy Thornton
An Early Memory-April 18, 1954
When I was young, my family lived on a street on the top of a river bluff. Whenever anything happened on the river, everyone from town gathered at the end of our street to watch.
April 18 was Easter. The bunny delivered eggs and my sisters and I dressed in our finery for church. I loved it that on that day our finery included hats, gloves, lace trimmed socks, and my favorite, black patent Mary Janes. After church we visited with family and friends and enjoyed my mother’s traditional ham dinner.
During a light supper in the evening, people were gathering at the end of our street. My mother rose from the table to go see what was going on. As she entered the crowd, she overheard someone say that Clifford Shedd and his wife drowned. When he realized my mother was standing there, he said, “I’m sorry, Alice, your brother, Helen, and your cousin Derwood went fishing. The boat overturned. Derwood is struggling down there to get to shore, but Helen and Clifford never surfaced.”
Mom ran home and told my dad. He bolted out the door and down the bluff paths all the way to the shore where a group of men had gathered. They were waiting for a boat that was coming and urging Derwood to keep swimming. Dad took one look at Derwood and plunged into the icy river, grabbing the last hand of the human chain that was forming. He grabbed Derwood’s arm and pulled him to shore. Many years later when I saw Derwood at a gathering, he told me my father saved his life that day. He could not swim anymore.
There was no sign of my aunt or uncle. The wardens put dragnets across the river the next town down for recovery of remains. Days went by. Every day we drove to a house near the nets in the next town seeking news, but there was nothing. A girl named Hazel lived in the house near the nets and I looked forward to playing with her every time we went there. It was a terrible time for my family. Days turned into weeks. After six weeks we had news from the wardens. My aunt’s body washed into the nets. There was a funeral and her family had closure.
Summer arrived and our vigil went on. The trips to the house by the nets were every three or four days now. My grandmother refused to give up hope that her son had survived. She would say that maybe Uncle Clifford hit his head and was wandering around in the wilderness on the other side of the river. It was sad and so hard for her.
September came and all the children on my street went to school except me. Now it was just mom and me driving to the house by the nets, maybe once a week. My new friend Hazel wasn’t there, she went to kindergarten. The leaves turned beautiful colors, then in November a trapper who was setting traps by the river found my uncle’s remains tangled in weeds near the riverbank. The ordeal of not knowing was over.
Clifford and Helen Smith Shedd were a handsome young couple married almost five years. They had just built a new home together. They loved the outdoors, fishing, and hunting, they were adventurers. They slipped away from us, beyond the veil, to the next realm and their next adventure together. Through my childhood, I always admired a lovely big picture of them in a special frame at my grandmother’s house.
April 18, 1954 was Easter Sunday the year I turned four.
Linda Check
14214
This is a photo of the back porch of the house taken during my last visit there – after my dad had passed away in 2010 and we had cleared everything out to put it on the market.
To anyone else, it is just one in a row of typical suburban Chicago bungalows. To me, it is a place that was filled with books, learning, plants, animals, good food and love.
Early memories of time spent playing “dolls” on a blanket in the side yard, or making “pemmican” in the sandbox alongside my brother’s battlefields, or seeing who could swing the highest, or just taking some time to “go sit on the back porch”.
September, 2020
Kris Dohm
Quiet Nights
I first went tent camping on my honeymoon (we were college students and it was cheap!) and I fell in love with it. We camped for the next 30 years or so taking our babies and as they grew into teens we often included their friends on our trips. It was an ideal vacation. Hiking, fishing, boating and swimming kept us all busy. Everyone helped with dinner prep and cleanup - cheerfully even - and nights were spent around a campfire. It was almost always quiet in the evening. Away from the city we could see the stars. On rainy nights we could listen to the downpour in the dry comfort of our tent playing games by the light of a lantern.
Though we no longer go up north to the woods, we often pitch our faithful tent in our backyard and camp with our granddaughters. For some reason breakfast never tastes as good as the ones made on the campstove. The kids call it "Camp Ama".
“Waridi Pads is the product which help girls to stay in schools the same days as boys, I wrote this memory with Riah Werner the Peace Corps Volunteer who worked with me here in Tanzania. You make changes to girls, now they can; Make their own decision, Know their bodies changes, Know my bodies my choice, You keep them flying. Many thanks to the founder Riah Werner and Catherine Njau.”
Catherine Njau has joined Memory Cloth Circle on zoom this year from Tanzania. She is a teacher and was concerned that girls missed school when they had their periods. She and Riah started a project for local women to sew washable menstrual pads, panties and bags to carry them. They even included soap with the bags. Catherine goes to schools to teach about menstrual health to boys, girls, male & female teachers. To make menstruation normal and to discuss the importance of education and delaying marriage and pregnancy. Last week she spoke to over 700 students and teachers.
We help support this project. Your contributions are welcome. Contact us.
Leslee Nelson
