SATURDAY DRIVES WITH MOM

 by Margie Senechal

A few months ago, I started spending Saturday mornings with my mom where we take random drives, turning down roads we've never driven, and talking. Talking about the past, the present, and dreams for the future.

My mom turned 81 in August and she's healthier than me, but she's beginning to forget things--including telling the same story in quick succession. She's been diagnosed with early dementia but doesn't quite believe it. Or maybe it's more that she doesn't want to believe it. Which I more than understand, which has led me to begin a writing project called The Memory Bank. 

The Memory Bank, at this time, is randomized stories of things I remember. Part of my mission with Mom is to fill in some of the blanks and capture her memories before they're gone. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. 

I've come to realize when my dad was alive that I never asked him questions about his life and his choices. For example, why did he choose the Navy over all the other armed forces when he was deathly afraid of the water? How did he become a cook and baker in the Navy? Was he assigned that right off or did someone say, "I think Wilkinson would be a great cook."? 

I'm not going to let my mom's stories disappear with her if I can help it. A lot of these are the stories of my youth and it's enlightening to get another view than my own or remind my mom of something she's forgotten.

Today we talked about the trip we took from New Jersey to the Pacific NW when I was nine (1971). My dad had retired from the Navy and we returned from Iceland via some sort of military air transport. I remember there was another family aboard and the boy threw up in a barf bag. Gross.

 We landed in New Jersey, and stepped off the plane only to be assaulted by the sun. It was May and the temp was in the 70's and this girl hadn't felt that kind of heat in over two years. It's funny how your body forgets what it's not exposed to for a period of time. Before Iceland, we'd lived in Norfolk, Virginia where I was a little tanned nugget. Stepping off that plane in Jersey took my breath away and I had to squint my eyes tight. 

We took a taxi somewhere, a motel probably. We passed a park, and everything was so green. Not just green but shimmery green. I have very fond memories of New Jersey. 

I remember somewhere on our road trip we came across a vending machine that held toys--I've never seen one since, even though as a kid, I checked at every restaurant and gas station we stopped at on our long road trip home. My sister and I each got to pick one toy out of the vending machine. We chose an egg of Silly Putty and a pink rubber ball the size of a tennis ball.

The silly putty kept us amused in the motel rooms as Mom and Dad watched the news and an evening show. I remember them being amazed by the appearance of Charo. Remember, we'd been in Iceland for  over two years where television was military approved and only for a number of hours a day. I think it began in the middle of the afternoon and went off at 10 or 11. 

Mom remembers what a long trip it was. Which I'm sure--what with Debbie and I probably bickering when we got bored and having14-month-old Wendy, who had, you know, baby needs. And my dad who wasn't the most patient of drivers, "No, we're not stopping now. You can hold it for a little longer," seems like a familiar refrain.

We reminisced about other highlights of the trip, and out of the blue, I remembered finding my first Trixie Beldon book at either a garage sale or a flea market. I probably read it several times the remainder of the trip.  

And that's where I'm going to stop with this look back, but this won't be my last sojourn into the past because I'm loving the hours I get to spend with my mom, just the two of us hitting the road and getting lost in our memories.