Memory Lane

 

I don’t know what made me think that going to town two days before Christmas was a good idea. The traffic was horrific and Walmart was a hubbub of activity.

My trip to town was a four-fold mission. First, I had to take care of farm business, so with checkbook in hand, I stopped at two cooperatives—electric and Ag.

At Walmart, I needed to pick up a prescription and had a scheduled grocery pick up. That was not as easy as it sounds. Finding a parking place was a combination of luck and perseverance. Backing out of the parking place was more difficult. My seat constantly vibrated because of traffic and beeped pedestrian warnings. The only way I was able to back out was when someone decided they wanted my parking spot.

I began the slow process of moving across the parking lot to the grocery pickup area. Of course, most places were taken up by people who were in the store shopping. After I found a parking place and picked up my groceries, I drove across town to the post office. I turned onto Lamine Street and looked at the buildings. I saw the building that used to be the library and passed a place that was once a church and still had a steeple.  When I turned on Fifth Street, I saw what used to be the employment office and a large building that was the Southwestern Bell Telephone offices. Something tugged at my heart and niggled at my brain when I thought of all the changes throughout Sedalia.

After stopping at the post office, I drove down Third Street toward Engineer. I saw where Mr. Reed’s grocery store used to be and turned off Engineer to the neighborhood where we used to live in the mid-70s. The house we lived in was gone, of course, and in its place were three new homes. Jim’s Grandma Fisher’s house was still standing and someone lived there. I drove a few blocks and turned north. Where Jim’s Grandma Tubbs house and Uncle Floyd and Aunt Ida’s house used to be were completely hidden by a privacy fence.

By this time, tears blurred my vision. I passed Uncle Johnny and Aunt Nita’s house and back onto Engineer. I couldn’t help but feel lonesome for the people who were once a big part of my life, and a time and place that I could never visit again.

Jim and I were in our 20’s when we moved to the Sedalia area. Our kids were little, and we were surrounded by family and friends. We never knew what the future held and we were unafraid. We lived in a rented house filled with old broken-down furniture. We had few worldly possessions, but we had love, hope, and faith that life would be easier eventually.

One of life’s blessings is that we don’t know what we don’t know. Would I have changed anything had I known how it would end? To stop the bad times, I would have missed the good times. I would have missed the love and laughter. I would have missed my second family that I loved as dearly as my birth family. I would not have known my second mother and father, my second brothers and sisters, and the multitude of cousins, nieces and nephews. Jim’s family was my family, and my family was his.   

As I continued down Memory Lane, or Engineer, I passed by Crown Hill Cemetery. Most of Jim’s family is buried there. For the first time ever, I wished Jim was buried there so I could easily visit his grave. Instead, I turned into the last loop of the cemetery, to visit Harold’s grave. By the time I got out of my car, I was sobbing.  I straightened the flowers in the vase, ran my hand along the smooth service of the stone and thought about finding love again in my sixties.

When I returned to the car, I caught sight of myself in the rearview mirror. I don’t know why I thought it had been a good day to apply mascara for the first time in years. Liquid love had left angry black streaks down my face.

I wiped away the evidence of my sentimental journey, and drove the memory lane I had used for the past fifty years to go home. If I had followed the highway farther north, I would have passed by the house where we lived on Newland Hill and continue to the house that Jim and I built on Sinkhole Road. Instead, I turned into the driveway to my current home. As I rode the lift and opened the door, I smiled at the wagging tail and hopeful barking of my dog. I was home where new memories will be made every day.

 

Copyright © December 2025 by L. S. Fisher

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Random Thoughts

 When I woke up this morning, my thoughts didn’t turn to what I should do on this cold Saturday morning. Oh, no, a blast from the past crossed my mind instead.

I was driving home from work and as soon as I turned onto Kemp Road, a man wearing a ball cap started waving his arms at me. Since I wasn’t prone to being flagged down by strangers, I made my turn and planned to pass him by. Instead, he began to wave more frantically, and I rolled down my window about two inches. “Lady, lady, please stop!” I began to roll forward and he yelled, “Jimmy Fisher is in the ditch across the road.” I looked and sure enough, our van was in the ditch.

I turned and looked at the man more carefully. “Leroy?” Sure enough, it was Jim’s cousin Leroy. I had never seen Leroy without a cowboy hat and wasn’t expecting him to be in Missouri instead of Idaho. Jim had thought it would be funny to see if I would stop for someone I didn’t recognize. Leroy realized that I was just going to drive on, and thought he’d better tell me Jim was in the ditch.

Why a random practical joke from forty years ago was my first waking thought this morning is a mystery. As we get older, I guess the long-term memory is our key to the past.

Life can take some twists and turns. I think the most important lesson I’ve learned in life is to live in the present. If we worry too much about tomorrow, we forget to savor the good things that happen today. Dwelling on the past isn’t good, but happy memories of those we loved and lost makes the grief bearable.

The world is in some ways a vast sea of humanity and in other ways a small community. Two of the women at the dialysis clinic took care of Jim when he was in the nursing home and took care of Harold when he was in dialysis. I recently saw them when I delivered on a long ago promise to Harold to give all the professionals at the dialysis clinic gift certificates to Dairy Queen. After dialysis, Harold and I often went to Dairy Queen and took our lunch to Liberty Park to watch the squirrels.

That reminds me of another junction. I used to take Jim to Dairy Queen to buy him a strawberry milkshake, and we often went to Liberty Park. After he passed away, I went to Dairy Queen one day and the kid at the window asked me about the guy that used to come with me.

Losing someone you love leaves a hole in your heart that can only be filled with memories. Following a long illness, you may need to work hard to find the random memory that makes you smile. Remember the good times, the happy times, or even the times of struggle.

Holidays, anniversaries, and maybe each day of the world, grief may try to win the day. We don’t overcome grief; it becomes a part of who we are.

Grief can make us more determined to live life to the fullest and to cherish the treasures of family, friends, and love. Each day we are given is a blessing, and when we are gone, we can hope to be occasionally remembered in a happy random thought.

 

Copyright © December 2025 by L. S. Fisher

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On This Date

 

After I was completing my two-year degree at State Fair Community College, the job placement office sent me to an interview at Full Cry Magazine. I worked in subscriptions at Full Cry until the owners sold the company and the office moved to Boody, Illinois.

Toward the end of 1980, I was in the job market so I registered with the SFCC employment office. In the meantime, I was spreading my resume like confetti to any place that would take it. I tried to leave a resume at the electric cooperative because I had a premonition many years before that I would work there someday. They weren’t taking resumes and hadn’t hired any new employees in the past seven years.

About a week later, I received a letter from the college asking me if I would be interested in working on a computer at a company that would train. Although my computer skills were non-existent, I always liked to learn new things. That afternoon I interviewed at the same electric cooperative that wouldn’t take my resume. Ed Walters told me later that as soon as I left, he turned to Harold Ream and said, “She’s the one.”

On December 4, 1980, the trajectory of my life changed. I began my career at CMEC and our family had the kind of stability that we had never had. From day one, I loved the challenge of the job. As I took on new roles and learned new skills, I was never once bored in the 33 years I worked at the Cooperative.

Jim and I began to take vacations in Colorado, and we fell in love with Rocky Mountain National Park. We camped, relaxed, and enjoyed the clear mountain air. After Jim started having cognitive issues, we still enjoyed the mountains, but stayed in a hotel or cabin. We still enjoyed animal watching, visiting our favorite places, and going on short hikes.

Throughout the ten years that Jim gradually became worse, the Cooperative allowed me the flexibility I needed to arrange in-home care for him. It was a time of uncertainty as family members had to fill in the gaps with the professional caregivers I hired. Before long, I was running on caffeine and fumes. I was working as much as I could, using vacation, my day off to make sure Jim was safe. Everyone was understanding when I had to grab my purse and head for home when Jim wandered off and wouldn’t get into the car with anyone else.

The second hardest decision I ever made was to place Jim in a nursing home. The hardest was when he was kicked out of the first home, and I had to find a new one for him. For five years, our family and I checked in on him almost daily to make sure he ate and was clean and dry  When Jim passed away, I felt like a part of me died too. We had been married 35 years.

I lived alone in the house that Jim and I built for fourteen years. Then, in 2014, I married Harold and moved into his house. Yes, we all called it Harold’s house for a long time. I found out being a farmer’s wife had its challenges. One of the first projects we completed was preparing metal rails for a farm fence. We lugged those all over the shop as we sanded, primed, and painted them. He dragged me into other projects until one day when he had me lifting heavy landscaping bricks into the bucket of his tractor, I said I’d rather drive the tractor than lift the buckets. Anyway, Harold was used to teaching me new skills and I drove the tractor while he did the heavy lifting.

During our marriage, I learned to rely on Harold, and after his health declined, he learned to rely on me. Toward the end of his life, he made it plain to the doctors that we didn’t make major decisions without talking it over. When Harold passed away, I discovered that being widowed the second time was more traumatic than the first time.  It may be because I’m older, or it may be that until the end, I hoped that he would get to come home.

As hard as it is at times, life goes on. Harold taught me as much as he could and with the written procedures, I can do most of the work that needs to be done. He at least gave me a list of who to call when something goes wrong. And, boy, have I needed that list.

Tomorrow night is the Cooperative’s employee appreciation dinner. The first time Jim, the kids, and I went was in 1980 a few days after I had taken the job at the Cooperative. I only knew the first names of the office employees. Harold and I went to the dinners until he had too much trouble walking. Many of the current employees and retirees we worked with were at the dinner.

This year, I’ll see old friends and meet new ones, but I know I’ll be missing the ones that won’t be there.  

 

Copyright © December by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

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