Sunday Scribblings " The good old days"
Are the good old days but of failed memory of what really was?
Did we choose to rewrite our past, scribbling out that youthful angst and splotchy parts?
Was it really a better time without the current technology that affords us travel and connection through the universe on a chair in our home?
Or were the snippets of beauty in each passing day what we chose to hold onto, letting the ugly fade away?
After dad died, mother missed him dreadfully. I think it lead to her demise five years later. One evening she was particularly distraught reminiscent of all the good times
they enjoyed as a couple. Golfing, dining out, chatting, playing bridge, making a fried egg sandwich in the wee hours of the morning. I felt she was lost in these fairytale memories, so I kindly snapped her back to reality. Reminding her of the many roast beef dinners he was absent, arriving home late, and loaded, without even a call. All the other times she stewed awaiting his safe arrival home, the ritual arguments about her trips to
, his disappointing behavior that sometimes put her in a pickle. Relieved, she thanked me for filling in the blanks of truth, so she could grieve dad in his entirety. Reno