Sometimes while I am busy doing the daily chores that never seem to do themselves (I don't know why. That's the only gripe I have about the way things are in the Universe. Unpleasant chores should just do themselves.), I will have a flash of memory. Not memory of whole days or weeks, but just of a snippet of time from childhood.
Like while washing dishes the other day, I remembered eating dinner at my Aunt Elaine and Uncle Oscar's farm home near Winona. I don't recall the specific reason we were there, but I know that my family would go to visit from time to time so my mother could spend time with her sister. I don't recall anything about the meal except the peas. Oscar had a hired man who took his meals with the family. At this particular dinner, I remember watching with fascination as the hired man ate his peas with his knife. I just couldn't figure out how he kept those peas on his butter knife long enough to get them into his mouth. I tried it a couple of times, resulting in having to sweep peas up off the floor.
I suppose that little bit of memory triggered my memory of this poem, recited by my Dad, with a little smile on his face:
I eat honey with my peas.
I've done it all my life.
I don't like honey with my peas,
but it keeps them on my knife.
Now, I can't remember one single fact that I learned in Algebra class in school. But I have total recall about eating peas with a knife and that silly little poem.
I think I am scared. And if I'm not, I probably should be.
Mom of four and Grandma of six, who writes about family events both past and present as well as anything else that happens to come to mind, shares new photos as well as old and who enjoys life in general.