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Yesterday, while picking raspberries from my garden, I was reminded of a time, as a child, that I spent at my Grandmothers place in Whitesboro, Tx.  It reminded me first of her garden on a small farm in North Central Texas where she had several rows of berry bushes along with rows of corn, tomatoes, a small orchard and other sundry items that you would find in a ventage victory garden.    I remembered the small yellow farmhouse, with a detached apartment and car port where Mr Reasor (my step-granddad) parked his Woody, and had cane fishing poles strung across the ceiling.   The smells of that garden and the aroma of the baking from her kitchen, and the fresh air only found on small rural farms, all took me back to a time when I was more innocent, and had so many fewer things to worry about.

As I thought about my grandmother and Mr. Reasor and the time spent by a 10 year old boy at his grandmothers house.   I thought it would make a good post for my Facebook Wall, so I reminisced about my time there on my new “Wall”.    Almost immediately, my cousin read my post and added his memories of Grandmother and her old farm house in Texas.

I had just reconnected with Terry Mike after more than 40 years since our last visit, and in fact joined face book after reading his blog as well as being inspired to try my hand at writing.  But I digress……

When Terry started adding his memories,  we chatted not only about Grandmother,  but also about our dads,  who have been gone these many years,  and our families.    We chatted about the 5 brothers who grew up in Comanche OK,  who all went on to fulfilling,  yet diverse, lives.   Louis,  the oldest of the brothers,  taught Chemistry for 30 years,  retiring as Dean of the Department at South Carolina before moving to Honduras to continue teaching to the less fortunate.   Then there was Rex, a retired Air Force Colonel with 30 + years in Medical Administration who lived to share his love of literature.    Terrence, Terry’s father,  was a renowned artist from Albuquerque, with a wooden leg.   He was the free spirit of the family,  and his brothers lived his spirit through his art.   Champ, my dad, was a successful salesman and entrepreneur who is remembered for his laugh,  his sentimental tears and his generosity.   The youngest was Mike,  the world traveler.   He was a Fulbright Scholar that spent years in the Middle East in the 50’s and early 60’s,  teaching.   He is the last of the brothers still living,  sharing the family legacy with anyone who will listen.

All of these memories because of a quart of raspberries I picked in my garden! In an age where communication has never been greater,  I not only reconnected with memories, but found a part of my family.   Instead of typing, or God forbid, writing out,  a letter or an occasional telegram just to touch base with home, we live in an age of  iPhones, Twitter, Facebook and Google, with communication, from anywhere,  just a text away, which can lead to a visit long over due and a chance to remember.

Terry and I finished our chat with a toast to our dads . . .”Here’s to those who remember and to those who are remembered…. Salud!”

An idle thought from a not so idle mind. . . .

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