That's the way I remembered it

Our memories are tricky things. Some remain in our minds, crystal clear for decades. Others get lost in some corner of our recollections and need a hefty boost before we can even get started on our thoughts.

I have some instant memories that flash into my mind immediately when a certain word is said, or when another memory stimulus such as odor, sound, or taste occurs.

I can't eat a pickled beet without having a fond memory of Elva Kafer. She was the mother of my life-long friend, Joyce. We had continuing arguments about which mother made the better biscuits, but the pickled beets honor went to Mrs. Kafer. I never fail to have her smiling image in my memory bank each time I eat the delicacy.

There is a certain housecleaning product that has an odor that I associate, not too fondly, with the former women's restroom in the southwest corner of the Vernon County Courthouse. I sometimes wonder if the offices there now don't have a faint trace of that cleanser.

Certain bird songs have instant geographic memories for me. A whippoorwill's song takes me to my sister's former home near Morgan, Missouri. That was the first time I awoke hearing the call. The Mourning Dove's coo-oo-coo-coo-coo brings me to my summer childhood home, here at The Wayside. Even now, although I live within sight of the family home, I can't hear the sound without a glimpse of my happy childhood playing in that lawn. My favorite mocking bird signals a refresher course in the joy we had when we retired to our present home and were greeted by a perky little mocking bird on the TV aerial. The fact that my father used to play "Listen to the Mocking Bird" in ragtime, on the piano, helps in that memory also.

The sound of steam escaping from the engine of a train as it is slowing down or stopping, puts me on the brick platform of the Nevada Depot, waiting for some relative to get off the train. However I don't hear that sound anymore except in my memory or perhaps in an old movie.

I am always amazed at how our pets can tell which cars that are passing by our home belong to one of "their" family. A cat that was lazily sleeping when the neighbors drove by will perk up her ears and wake up when our own car, pick-up, or the school bus comes near.

I can't do that with vehicles, but I do remember the sounds that different family members make or made, if they are no longer with us. A little persistent cough, a noisy throat clearing, heavy breathing, whistling or humming, or drumming fingers are all identified for me with certain loved ones, or maybe a co-worker whose habit annoyed me. (All memories are not fond ones.)

Like the steam engine train sounds, other sounds that were a part of our lives no longer are heard. The sound made when we were ringing a neighbor on the old wooden wall telephones with the crank at the side of the phone is gone.

Also missing are sounds of Mama beating flour into a steak with her hammer when preparing to make Swiss Steak, the tingling noise the little wooden containers in Moore's Department Store made when the clerks sent the customer's money to the main cashier on the overhead wires, or the music made on the courthouse square by a community band on Saturday nights.

I'd better stop. I hear the buzzer going off on my clothes dryer.