Mem’ries Light The Darkness

This might be Daylight saving time, but midnight is still as dark as, well–, as night!  Not quite midnight here in Western Kentucky yet, but closing in on it pretty fast.  And as usual, the memories are keeping me company tonight.  So, wanna take a trip down “Memory Lane” with me?

Just some random thoughts.  The one that has gone thru my brain several times today used to make my Mom laugh.  It really is a crazy thing for a very young child to have noticed, but, well–  Mom and Dad were getting ready for the move to Highway 81, and the pivotal move here would be whether they could sell the house on Parrish Court.  I followed Mom around one day when a lady was looking at the house, and the one scene that has remained with me all these years took place in the bathroom.  The lady was wearing red high heeled shoes, probably the first ones I had ever seen, and she must have found a spot on one of them because she propped her foot on the side of the tub, dampened some TP and began cleaning the spot off the shoe, examining the shoe carefully occasionally and then wiping at it again.  I was fascinated by this and stood there after Mom left the room, just watching her clean that shoe.

We had an ice box in the house on Parrish Court.  Not a refrigerator, an ice box.  Mom would put a sign in the window with the amount of ice she wanted and the ice man would chip that amount off his huge slabs and bring it into the kitchen each day.  That was a sight never seen now.  He had a horse drawn wagon, loaded with the ice that was so good in the summer.  He chipped small chunks off for the good kids every day, but had a different attitude toward some of the older boys who terrorized the poor horse, sometimes whipping it until it ran away.  Those same boys once lured my brother and me away from home to another street, then left us there, hungry, alone, lost.  Two sheltered kids, ages 2 and 3, oh yes, we were both afraid. 

My first haircut was at the hands of my big brother and his friend,  The deed was done under a street light, using the scissors I had been given for cutting out my paper dolls.  Mom cried when she saw it, not sure what punishment was reined down on T’s head, but my scissors were confiscated, the neighbor friend banished for a few months, and my sweet Aunt Johnnie May convinced Mom my hair would grow back.  My scissors weren’t returned for a few years but my hair grew back.  And one day soon after that we moved in with my grandparents and watched our house on Highway 81 come to life.



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