A Simpler Time

A Memorial Day Remembrance–or should I say, in deference to the past, “A Decoration Day Remembrance”

Zmmm—Zmmm—Zmmm—Zmmm: The sound never stopped. The only way to get away from it was to go to the far corner inside the house. But I didn’t want to go in because Dad was outside and I wanted to be where he was. He was tinkering with the lawnmower, So I just hunkered down on my heels and watched.  “What’s that?” I asked, pointing to something square that was off to the side of the mower. “What are you doing with it?” He didn’t really answer me; he just pointed to it and kept on using the screwdriver.

Then Mother came out and called to me, so I followed her. She put a box with some glass Mason jars on the well platform and moved on with the scissors in her hand. “Come along; you can help me choose the flowers,” she said.  We headed to the bank of bright pink peonies. I pointed to this one and that one. Sometimes she cut the ones I pointed to, and sometimes she didn’t. When she handed them to me, I took them rather gingerly: they smelled heavenly, but usually ants were  buried in the blossoms. Then we headed to the bushes back by the fence where the white peonies were. She mixed those in with the pink ones and we headed back to the jars. She primed the pump and the water gushed into the jars—one, two, three, four, five. Then she placed the peonies equally in the jars.

Zmmm—Zmmm—Zmmm—Zmmm. The sounds continued in the background. I was tired of hearing it. Sometimes I could hear the crowd roaring; other times the Zmmm sound almost went silent and I could hear men yelling. Then the steady fast sound began again: Zmmm—Zmmm—Zmmm—Zmmm.

“What lap are they on?” Mother asked.

“I think it’s about 150. It’ll be about another hour,” said Dad.

“Okay,” Mother said, “then I’ll start dinner.”

I stayed outside with Dad. I knew Mother had already made potato salad, and I knew she’d be frying the meat now. I’d just be in the way if I went in. I’d go later—she’d let me put the napkins on the table.

Finally the Zmmm-Zmmm-Zmmm-Zmmm ended; Dad rolled the lawnmower around to the back of the house, and we went in, after washing our hands at the pump.

“Did an American win?” Mother asked.

“Yes, a young guy named Troy Ruttman. The foreigner’s car lost a wheel; he had to pull out.”

“That’s good. I’m glad there weren’t any wrecks today.”

“No, it was a pretty good race—about four hours. Each year the cars get faster.”

After the holiday dinner, we loaded into the car with all the jars full of peonies. The whole car was full of the almost overwhelming sweet scent of the peonies. My sister and I were in charge of making sure they didn’t tip over with all that water in them. We made two stops, first to the cemetery in town, and then to the one that was in the country on the other side of town—three jars for the first stop; two for the second. It didn’t take any time at all. Mother and Dad knew exactly where they were going. From one grave to another—right in a line—one, two, three.  I didn’t know the people—they were dead before I was born—a grandpa, a grandma, an aunt. At the other cemetery was the grave of a cousin and my dad’s favorite uncle, Uncle Bill—he had died when Dad was a boy.

When we went home, the holiday was over. Even though it was a Friday, the day was almost like a Sunday. With Dad home from work all day, we had our big meal at noon, and we would eat cold cuts for supper.  And it was too late to stay outside—it was still cool at night. I wanted to play with paper dolls, but my sister wanted to read, so I got my dolls and went to the corner behind the stove. Back there I could play as I wanted—none of my dolls made Zmmm noises, but they did go to the cemetery with flowers.

How long ago all of this happened. Now if I would go to the two cemeteries, there would be more graves to visit—My mother’s, my dad’s, my brother’s, my sister’s, my nephew’s, and my niece’s. So many losses through the years. But I still thrill a little when I hear the Indy 500, although it’s a faster race now, trimming off at least a half-hour from the old days. One thing that hasn’t changed is the danger of serious wrecks. Flowers on graves? Yes, some people do observe the tradition. Special barbeques seem to abound now, but not so much then. It was a simpler time, but special for the same reason it is now—a time with family, doing the things that families do when they are together.