And now as an adult, I look back on my childhood with so
much happiness, innocence and joy that I find myself wondering why I had ever
wished it away.
In a strange, glass-half-empty approach to life, I look up
the local obituaries from my home town.
I guess it is something as a young child, I observed all the adults
doing. I remember listening to my
grandparents, my parents and friends gathering around a table and discussing
the latest town news… “Did you hear Gladis Smith passed yesterday? “No but on the Oelwein KOEL AM radio obituary
announcements this morning, I heard so
and so died.” And so now as an adult I guess it’s just one
of things I absorbed through osmosis, or at least that’s who I’m going to
blame.
And that leads me to Marianne
Mashek.
Who might that be you
ask. She’s one, one of many people whose
faces I remember and whose image represents to me a life, a life in a world
that should still be standing still. Do
you know what I mean? Am I making any sense?
I fear no. Have you ever visited a place that you had
gone to many years before, and upon returning you were surprised to see that it
had changed, it seemed different, maybe smaller, maybe older and just not the same way you
remember? That is who Marianne Mashek is
to me.
Growing up with parents who
ran a ballroom, there were many a weekends spent at the “hall” helping clear
off tables, wash dishes and serve cake.
Being there to help, also meant that we were able to celebrate many a
celebrations with friends and community members from all areas of Northeast
Iowa. With the ballroom a part of my
entire childhood, there were many parties for the community to have, from
graduations, to weddings, to anniversaries and even the annual Memorial Day
veterans tribute which brought out the entire town. With all those celebrations in a close knit
community, it was no coincidence strangers became familiar faces and in many
cases friends. Even to a little girl,
who grew a bit taller with each passing year and whose responsibilities adapted
from just setting up chairs, to helping dry dishes, to eventually serving
cake.
You know most people in
their lives strive to leave a mark, to impact those around us positively and to
make the world better for at least one person.
There’s that old saying that you never know how many lives you’ve
impacted in your life and as I think about it, it’s true. I haven’t seen Marianne Mashek in probably
close to 15 years and yet to me, she is still that friendly, white-haired,
60ish lady, that Lawler staple, that would turn her head to the side, bend over
slightly (to be closer to my level) and she’s say, “Well, hi Angie…. How are
you?” Did she have an impact in my
life? Yes. Did she ever realize it? I am confident, no. And although it seems she was just a friendly
face with a kind persona, she did impact me.
She is a part of the memory of my youth, which I cherish and look back
fondly on.
That’s it. In my mind, life as I remember it should be
stopped, where no one is aging, where the celebrations continue and the life
remembered still continues day after day.
Think Groundhog’s day movie, on loop.
And it in those moments, when I pull up the obituaries and I see the
news of a face I recognize but one that has aged some, and learned they have
left this world, that I’m reminded.
Life does not stop. The memories of my youth are not on repeat. And in what seems a glimmer of a second, time
is slipping away.
So now that I’m wholly
depressed, I remind myself to think of the today. I have been blessed with three little people
who are in the middle of that magical stage of life called childhood. And although I will never get that time back
in my life, I do get to be a part of their childhood, of their magical memory
making years and it makes me challenged to help them make the most of it. Am I
helping to create the ever so perfect memories of childhood for my three little
people? Am I giving them the experiences
I so cherish now? What will be there “go-to”
moment that they think about in 30 so years from now?
Although reading the obituaries
may seem like a pessimist action in an already negative-news society, in a
strange way it is good for me. Not only
does it allow me to reflect on what a wonderful childhood I had and the many wonderful
acquaintances I shared it with; it also reminds me of just how delicate life
is. How to be thankful for the family
members still in my life, to be considerate of those family memories suffering
from their loved-one’s loss. And mostly,
it reminds me to be thankful for what I have today. Although I miss being a little girl, running
through the long-soft-blades of grass in rural Iowa, I’m thankful to have had
that time and to be where I am today. For
if I wasn’t where I am now, I wouldn’t get to experience the joy, the happiness
and the innocence in the eyes of my three little ones today.
Until next time,
angie
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