Memories can provide a rosy glow

I found a note from my brother, Michael, on the computer this morning. It said he didn’t want anything, that he was missing me. He was also missing his mom and dad and the way things used to be.
I replied that I also missed the little house with my step-dad on the couch behind the coal stove, Grandma on a kitchen chair in the doorway and the rest of us milling around like happy sardines. Somehow, it didn’t seem that crowded at the time. Maybe it was because we were all smaller then.
We have always referred to it as the little house. At one time it was a toll house and subsequent owners added on until it became the four-room house we knew. It has since burned down and been replaced by a bigger abode. The last time I took our mother by there she insisted I was mistaken when I told her that was where her little house used to be.
I’ll call Michael after I finish this column. He probably won’t answer as he is almost always piddling around outside without a phone whenever he is not at work. He needs to know that he is not the only one feeling nostalgic.
Later in the day my husband dropped me off at the grocery store while he did some not-so-last-minute shopping. I was at the deli counter. A mother and a young girl were ahead of me. The counter person gave the lady a slice of cheese to try. She shared it with her daughter. The child took a big bite. Seconds later she made the worst face I ever saw and handed the cheese back to her mother.
I laughed, and the mom said that the garlic in the cheese just hit her. The child reached for more cheese, probably in a bid to elicit another laugh. It didn’t work.
On the way home, it was cold and rainy. Actually, it was snowing, but it was too warm for snow so it melted on the way down. We didn’t waste time getting home, just in case the temperature decided to drop. We were within a few miles of home when a white truck flew by us. Shortly after that we saw flashing blue lights. We felt guilty at the wave of satisfaction we felt when we confirmed our suspicion that it was the same truck that had been pulled over.
I’ll tell Michael about the grocery store girl when I call him. I’ll also tell him about the white truck and make sure he knows not to fly around people in the presence of police. I’ll also tell him about the Parade of Lights that occurred Saturday. It was the best one yet. Of course, stopping by the local fudge shop for some of the most delicious malted milk balls ever made it even better.
We’ll talk about the little things going on in our lives, while not admitting how much our mom’s passing weighs on us. We might remark on how much we miss the way things used to be. We both know those days are gone, along with our loved ones. I might even tell him how much it bothers me to be the oldest one in the immediate family.
Somewhere in the conversation one of us will make the other one laugh and we will admit that the olden days weren’t all they were cracked up to be. There was as much bad as good. Still, sometimes it is good to put on rose-colored glasses and remember the way we were.