A thousand years ago, back in 1962 or maybe at the same time as the Beatles landed, the company my father worked for, Steel Industries of Indiana (who was the largest manufacturers of shoehorns at the time) held their company picnic at Kings Island in Ohio.
My mother was the type who grew up in the hilly hollers of the country, and so, because we were almost, but not quite, dirt poor, she made a lot of our clothes. For each company picnic, she would make matching shirts of the same color, so we wouldn't get lost, or if we did, we would be able to be found because my mother picked some God-awful colors that nobody in their right mind would ever wear as clothing. I think that year the color was Salmon.
So.... We went to Kings Island, and played and played and got to ride an old steaming stern wheeler, a big old paddle wheel of a boat all around the lake. It was wonderful and I know why Mark Twain loved them so much. Incredible magic on those things.
Now, the Pink Poodle. At the end of the day, when my parents had finally rounded us all up from our running and playing and hiding and generally getting into the mischief that four boys can get into (My eldest brother was 4 years older than me, while my two younger brothers were each 13 months apart from me and each other.), they had prizes for us! Stuffed poodle dogs. One red, one white and one pink. Yes. I counted right. There were three of them, to somehow be split between four boys. When all the dust had settled, Gary got the red one, Sam got the white one and James, the baby, got the pink one. I don't know how it was decided as I didn't get the vote, but it was decided, for whatever reason that I would not receive a stuffed poodle of any color. Maybe I had been exceedingly evil that day. I don't think so. I don't remember being evil over my normal boy quotient. Anyways, that has stuck with me ever since, causing me to be a champion of fair play, and a great pretender that I don't really care.
As for the Salt Taffy... it was the first place I had ever seen such a thing. I still remember it being looped over the taffy pulling machine in great ribbons of white and pink, being stretched and stretched over and again. My mom bought me my first piece, and a really big piece too, which I'm positive made my dentist very happy.
Here's what I know about the loss of a parent: My dad passed in 2001 from Cancer. I miss him still, and it frustrated me for the first 6 years of his passing that I could not for the life of me remember his voice or his life. It irritated the heck out of me and yes, I cried for years off and on. Catch me at the right time and I'll still do it. Cry big ol' bucket tears like I was 5 years old again without a pink poodle.
Your mind will stabilize, honey. It will. In it's own time. But you will never, every get over the loss. You may get used to the empty space in your life perhaps, move on to new and other things, most probably, but you'll never get over it. And you know... that is not a bad thing. It shows the depth of your love, and how much you CAN love. It makes you very, very human.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2009-06-05 05:18 pm (UTC)A thousand years ago, back in 1962 or maybe at the same time as the Beatles landed, the company my father worked for, Steel Industries of Indiana (who was the largest manufacturers of shoehorns at the time) held their company picnic at Kings Island in Ohio.
My mother was the type who grew up in the hilly hollers of the country, and so, because we were almost, but not quite, dirt poor, she made a lot of our clothes. For each company picnic, she would make matching shirts of the same color, so we wouldn't get lost, or if we did, we would be able to be found because my mother picked some God-awful colors that nobody in their right mind would ever wear as clothing. I think that year the color was Salmon.
So.... We went to Kings Island, and played and played and got to ride an old steaming stern wheeler, a big old paddle wheel of a boat all around the lake. It was wonderful and I know why Mark Twain loved them so much. Incredible magic on those things.
Now, the Pink Poodle. At the end of the day, when my parents had finally rounded us all up from our running and playing and hiding and generally getting into the mischief that four boys can get into (My eldest brother was 4 years older than me, while my two younger brothers were each 13 months apart from me and each other.), they had prizes for us! Stuffed poodle dogs. One red, one white and one pink. Yes. I counted right. There were three of them, to somehow be split between four boys. When all the dust had settled, Gary got the red one, Sam got the white one and James, the baby, got the pink one. I don't know how it was decided as I didn't get the vote, but it was decided, for whatever reason that I would not receive a stuffed poodle of any color. Maybe I had been exceedingly evil that day. I don't think so. I don't remember being evil over my normal boy quotient. Anyways, that has stuck with me ever since, causing me to be a champion of fair play, and a great pretender that I don't really care.
As for the Salt Taffy... it was the first place I had ever seen such a thing. I still remember it being looped over the taffy pulling machine in great ribbons of white and pink, being stretched and stretched over and again. My mom bought me my first piece, and a really big piece too, which I'm positive made my dentist very happy.
Here's what I know about the loss of a parent: My dad passed in 2001 from Cancer. I miss him still, and it frustrated me for the first 6 years of his passing that I could not for the life of me remember his voice or his life. It irritated the heck out of me and yes, I cried for years off and on. Catch me at the right time and I'll still do it. Cry big ol' bucket tears like I was 5 years old again without a pink poodle.
Your mind will stabilize, honey. It will. In it's own time. But you will never, every get over the loss. You may get used to the empty space in your life perhaps, move on to new and other things, most probably, but you'll never get over it. And you know... that is not a bad thing. It shows the depth of your love, and how much you CAN love. It makes you very, very human.