I just had a birthday . . . the one that officially signifies that I am old! At the ripe age of sixty-five, I don’t feel old mentally as I still have much I want to accomplish. However, it does make one stop and ponder the past and what influences made you who you are. I am a child of the sixties―the decade of peace and love.
I have many nostalgic Thanksgiving memories. When I was a child, I always watched the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on TV. Daddy would go out and mow over all the leaves in our yard and then come back in and fall asleep in his chair. Mother stayed busy in the kitchen cooking our Thanksgiving dinner . . . which was always eaten in the middle of the day.
My memories of Good Friday are of my parents getting up as soon as it was light to plant the garden. It wasn’t just a small garden in the yard. They had purchased acreage around our house where they had a garden plot. Daddy would plow it earlier in the week and have it ready for them to plant on Good Friday. I am not sure where that tradition originated — whether it was from the Farmer’s Almanac or simply Southern Folklore, but my parents religiously planted on Good Friday.
Faded photographs, a favorite teddy bear, toys, and dolls evoke memories of childhood. Along with these, you have recollections of vacations, holidays, and family gatherings.
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