The Funniest Things Trigger Memories

So, I was a little bored with the background on my blog. I went to CutestBlogOnTheBlock and chose a different one. (Yes, I'm aware it's still green. Green happens to be my favorite color. I tried selecting something else. I'm all for "branching out," "expanding my interests" yada, yada, yada. I tried. Believe me, I did. I tried blues; I tried reds. Sorry, they just didn't "speak to me" like greens do. But hey, at least I chose a different shade of green.) So, I logged on today and looked at my blog. I saw the green edges that look like they are painted cement blocks. And... they reminded me of something. Something from long ago and far away.

My family had recently moved to Tucson, Arizona so my dad could attend graduate school at U of A. We went to church in a big chapel that was painted green... the green that is the color of the background of my blog. On the inside of the church as well. And the chapel section had cinderblock-type walls... green ones. Wow. It's amazing I remembered that.

Just seeing the background of my blog I can now see almost two years of my life stored away in my memory for so long. We live in a two-story townhouse kind of place. The bedrooms are upstairs. It's small. But... there is a pool right out our sliding glass door. It's Arizona, for heaven's sake. There better be a pool. (More on the pool later.)

I went to first and second grade at Julia Keen Elementary School. Some big red-headed thug of a boy had a crush on me. He'd chase me around the playground. It used to really tick me off because, c'mon, ... buddy... you're just not doin' it for me. You're a big red-headed thug of a boy. Personally, I'm not into thugs... they don't set my heart a flutterin' like they do for some girls. And, well, sorry, but, redheaded boys are simply NOT ATTRACTIVE. Didn't think so then. Haven't thought so since. (Well, except for one time years later in San Diego. John Pomeroy (rest his soul). He was hot. He was also my sister's boyfriend so, yeah, never went there in my mind either.)

Oops. I appear to have veered onto the San Diego exit in my recollections. Apparently I need a mental GPS while navigating memories in my mind to keep me from attempting a whole-life road trip down Memory Lane in one sitting.

So, Arizona. Hot. Saguaro National Park. Gila monsters. More hot. Babysitter would take my sister and me there while my mom was at work and my dad was at school. My mom worked at a Bee laboratory. Yes, bees. As in buzzing and honey. They study bees. Whatever. My mom was amazing. She worked full-time, but we still had dinner on the table every night. I did homework. I had chores. In retrospect, I can see that she was very present despite not literally being there the majority of the hours from Monday to Friday. Looking through the lens of memory, I don't have a sense of angst about her not being home.

Christmas. Very different from Utah Christmases. Did I mention hot? My sister and I got matching stingray bicycles. Girly bikes with shimmery plastic tassels hanging off of the ends of the handlebars. I got my first long-play album. (Elvis Presley's Greatest Hits... if you wanted to know.) I'd sing along to Jailhouse Rock and Hound Dog like I was a rockstar. Heck, as far as I was concerned, I was a rockstar. (My poor family. How did they stand it? My poor sister. She probably had to endure the worst of it.)

Back then, each congregation at church had an assigned "budget" contribution that needed to be met each year. Our congregation had a deal with Hertz Rent-A-Car. The adults would drive their rental cars from Tucson to Phoenix... dropping off one kind of car and picking up another. Whatever Hertz paid for the service went to the ward budget fund. My parents participated in that. So some Saturdays, they would be gone for hours as they would take their turn driving cars to Phoenix. I admit, my mind at the time didn't really grasp the idea. "So, you're getting in a rental car to drive to another city, to get into a different rental car and drive home? And the car company pays you to do this?" It seemed kinda like herding cats to me, but back then, I supposed there were lots of things adults did that didn't make sense to kids but made sense in the adult world. I figured this was one of those things.

My dad had a motorcycle. I was afraid to ride on it. It made me nervous. One day, I didn't want to be at school so I concocted a great idea. I'd throw up. So I ran to the bathroom from my front-row seat, holding my hand over my mouth. Stayed in the bathroom a bit. Splashed water on my face. Flushed the toilet and came out with my very best "I am at death's door but somehow I'll muddle through" expression. Move over, Meryl Streep. (Okay, so I'm a rockstar and an actress. What's your beef?) Worked like a charm. Minutes later, I was in the front office and my "parent" was coming to get me. Silly me. Employees don't leave work to get sick children if their spouse is home studying. So, it was Dad that showed up to bring me home. He was not happy. I'm thinking it's a good bet had he been a member of the Screen Actors Guild voting committee, Meryl's place as reigning diva of living actresses would not be in any jeopardy. He saw through it all.

One of the things that made my father effective as a parent was he was very good at applying natural consequence as punishment. The punishment fit the crime, so to speak. (Tangent: "So to Speak" - one of my dad's most-used phrases. End tangent.) So... can anyone guess the mode of transportation used to take me home that day? Yep, I walked out into the parking lot, saw the motorcycle and then really did need a bathroom. I was instructed to climb onto that scary, life-threatening, loud awful thing I was terrified of and hold on. I effectively pulled off a fake throwing up stunt just to have to worry about the very real possibility of peeing my pants all the way home. "Lord, spare my life and I promise I will never fake throwing up again."

I lived to tell the tale.

The green cinder-block walls of the church we attended every Sunday in Tucson, Arizona. Me. My sister. My mom. My dad. Forty-one years ago. Memories. While we're making them, I don't think we understand that's what we're creating. But all these years later, we're glad we have them.

"Oh, and Lord, thank you for sparing my life on the ride home all those years ago. I have kept my end of the bargain. Since that day, I have never faked throwing up again. So... well... I have another request all these years later. From now until it comes my time to exit this life, I'd like to still have access to my memories. I'm very thankful for the gene pool I was sent to swim in. I love all the fellow swimmers you sent me to. But, we both know..., the memory thing... well, there's something in the water of this particular pool... and well, I'd really like to keep my memories until the end. They give me great pleasure and comfort now and I believe future ones will as well. So, that's my request. I'm working to make future memories honorable. That's what I can offer on my end. If it's something You feel You can grant, I'd be extremely grateful. At the same time, I want You to know..., 'but if not'... my convictions won't change. You know best."