A Day of Memories and Memory Making

I took my sisters on an adventure this weekend. We returned to a place of wonder and childhood memories...

Rachel was a baby the first time we camped at Robert H. Treman State Park just outside of Ithaca, NY. We would return when she was a year old, and again a year or so later. Dad always camped in the upper campground at the top of the gorge. It was less crowded and he liked that. His favorite spot wasn't always available, but if it was we camped in the corner site just up the hill from the old mill where the bathrooms were located. Today there is no camping allowed in the top of the park. It is just a picnic ground and I think most of it goes unused and inaccessible to the public. We didn't go to camp though, we went to hike the gorge.

It was a beautiful day full of memories. So many first experiences I remember from this place. Wonderful memories of my mother showing me creatures in the creek; minnows, water striders, and dragonflies. Perhaps I am drawn here to heal...

She taught me how to skip rocks in the creek, and shared a love wading up or down the stream on the flat sheets of slate that line the creek bed.

I learned that Daddy-Long-Legs don't bite and it is okay if they crawl over my leg or along my arm.

We were told never to go into the Gorge Trail alone, but were allowed ample free time to play together in the creek at the top. I didn't take much thought for the rock retaining wall when I was six, but it is what makes this spot on the creek recognizable all these years later. Seeing those cut stones brings back a sense of comfort. This is where I sat on a rock while Dad helped me tie my shoes fifty years ago.


On Saturday we followed the signs that said "due to Covid-19" we should hike down the Gorge Trail, and back up the Rim Trail, a 4 1/2 mile hike. In all our camping trips there as a child, I'd never hiked the Rim Trail, so that was a new experience in a well loved and familiar park.

It was a beautiful day and I am forever grateful to my sisters for going along and making me smile. (Yes, my legs are feeling the burn. I don't know how many steps are in the "Great Staircase" but my phone tells me I climbed 65 floors on Saturday. LOL!)

Our Aunt Margie

My sisters and I went to visit our Aunt Margie on Friday afternoon. Born just 15 months before Mom made her appearance in the world, they grew up close although entirely different as sisters often are. Mom was the more social, Aunt Margie more reserved, and yet it was Aunt Margie who had the full time job at Xerox and she who held the driver's license Mom never obtained.

There was a long period of time in my childhood when Mom and Aunt Margie were not on speaking terms. I'm sure there were wrongs and misunderstandings on both sides of the aisle. That's how it goes with relationships. When I was old enough to cross Main Street (I think I was 9...), I would walk or ride my bike to the village of Webster to play with my cousin Pam at their apartment while Aunt Margie worked.

Though Mom and Aunt Margie's relationship was strained, my aunt was always kind and welcoming. She invited me for supper, took us out shopping, and loved me. I am blessed to have those memories I would otherwise have missed. By the time I "grew up" and my children began to arrive, Mom and Aunt Margie had renewed their relationship. They became fast friends and Aunt Margie was there to welcome each and every child of mine, to celebrate birthdays, and special occasions. She showered us with gifts and cards, bags of chocolate, homemade Christmas cookies, and most of all, love.

In later years when Mom's memory began to fail, Aunt Margie remained her constant friend and

visitor. When Mom's conversation with others fell short and sometimes silent, her sister would fill in the gap. She never stopped coming, usually on Thursday afternoons, and with her came a bag of candy, some fresh fruit or a box of cookies, a new puzzle, and always a gift for Mom at Christmas or on her birthday. It was Aunt Margie who took Mom out for dinner dates with their brother, my Uncle Chuck.

I found myself looking at her time and again on Friday, trying to store a mental picture of the woman in front of me, the one with straight gray hair and familiar smiling eyes... She'd told my sisters that she had been to the hairdresser there in the care facility where they washed her hair and it turned that color... She's been there nearly 2 years now but her things are still packed in boxes because "someone is coming to take me home in a couple weeks..." She's not sure why she is there, "It's a place for people with Alzheimer's and dementia" she tells us. "They brought me here by mistake."

I find myself sometimes sad and reflective... but also grateful for the faith that this is not all we have to look forward to. There is a God who loves us, one who knows our frame and remembers that we are but dust. A God who made a way, who paid the price, so that we could have hope beyond what often seems so hopeless here. Aunt Margie is almost 85 now...

One Fine Winter

One fine winter back in the 1970's my brother and his buddies built a snowman. It was the biggest snowman I'd ever seen and the only one I'd known my brother to build. Perhaps it was the fact that the guy in the parka on the far right was from Florida. I can't remember what he was doing so far from home, maybe he'd run away to the land of ice and snow for a little excitement. I remember he was young, about 17. It was 1976.

Little sisters are easily impressed by the feats of older brothers and we were quite impressed. Even Mom was impressed. She came outside to take a picture of us and that was really cool. Shoot! Even the creators look pleased with their accomplishment.

PS. That's me with the red mittens.
:0)