In Remembrance

"Do this in remembrance of me." So much of what we do daily, good and bad, conscious and unconscious, we do in remembrance. The mass of contradictions, insecurities, prejudices and opinions that form each of us are about memory, about carrying on those things that symbolize who we are and where we come from. The body and blood of our lives is all about what we do in remembrance, in what we carry forth with us, in what we continue to do, regardless of persecution or loss of faith or just how inexplicable our beliefs are.

I will cry about debts and purchase a new book within the same 24-hour period, and when I sit down to read, I curl my left leg under me. I am comforted by the smell of beer, cigarettes and Spray 'N Starch. I feel the need to identify any plant life within ten feet of me to whoever happens to be around. I surreptitiously dig up small starts of flowers that do not belong to me. When the back of my neck gets tight, I try not to remember the Maker's Mark bottle in the pantry. My bookshelves have more than one "missing" library book. I look at the world and see herons, barn swallows, robins nesting. I turn up the radio for every Nitty Gritty Dirt Band song. Perfection is a quiet house, a good book and a hot drink.

I make private judgments about farmers with round bales, muddy lots, and more than two dress shirts. I will tackle cutting stovepipe, cutting trees, planting corn, snaking the toilet drain, and sewing a seam. I tell myself I can work longer, I can push harder, that I don't hurt, when most of me doesn't believe it is true. I castigate myself when I leave too much meat on an apple core. I read the classifieds, aware of what information is not offered. I appreciate a well-stacked wagon, and when I pass men in a hayfield on a warm June evening, I want to pull over, change out of my dress clothes, climb over the fence and walk away from every desk job I've ever had. When I nap, I hook my hand inside my waistband or my pants pocket. I'm happy to see fish sandwiches on a menu, even when I don't order them, and I tip waitresses a little extra if they call me "honey". I still cannot believe I live with a cat that gets two shots every day. Old farmers in work clothes from Sears, grease-filled arroyos on their knuckles and untamed ear hair get the very best version of myself that I can muster.

I have books with no covers. My only copy of To Kill a Mockingbird has a green cardstock cover, and since the last pages are missing, someone transcribed them with an old typewriter on a sheet of typing paper that is pasted in. Comfort food involves bacon grease or canned milk. When I pick flowers, I always leave the majority of the blooms and leave them on plants visible to the road - everyone should be able to enjoy them. I hate to throw away cards with pretty pictures. I hear a voice in my head scolding me when I take too much peel off a potato, when I use a paper towel instead of a dishcloth to wipe up a spill, or when I start reading first thing in the morning without "washing my eyes out" first. I never ask a host what we're having for dinner, no matter how badly I want to know, because you're supposed to be grateful for what anyone else shares with you, regardless of what it is or how it is offered.

I give up the comfortable seat, the last cookie, my time, my energy, even when I don't want to. I answer phone calls and listen to the unhappiness of other people, even on days when I can barely manage my own. I need all the cookies on the cookie sheet to be even and approximately the same size. I remind myself that "tall statues need broad bases" when I can't find a cute size 9 shoe. I've been known to cry in the grocery store when a little old lady with a kind face and White Linen perfume passes me. When I sing to myself around the house, I find myself humming old hymns. I feed the people I love, and of all my household jobs, I enjoying my time in the kitchen most. I'm always aware of the unkempt state of my cuticles. I apologize without thinking, because someone else's peace is sometimes worth more than the truth. I can't watch the Macy's parade or the Rose parade. I try to never go anywhere empty-handed. I can excuse any behavior from people I love.

Do this in remembrance of me.