I Remember

  -->

Marilyn Horan

                                                            I Remember

I remember the wonderful smell of tar from the docks and boats that we sailed on during family boat rides leaving from Red Hook.

I remember watching my mother put on her bright red lipstick in the mirror over the sofa and looking like the most beautiful movie star.

I remember asking my mother and father to please bring me home a little brother or sister when they went out on dates to the movies or parties.

I remember the sharp sweet taste of Indian apples, pomegranates, that my mother bought me once a year at the fruit market as a special present for just me.

I remember seeing my brother Bob standing head and shoulders above his classmates at Mass and thinking I had, by far, the handsomest brother in the world.

I remember the smell of my father’s dresser drawer--a combination of cigarettes, cedar, and sweat.

I remember my father buying me rice pudding at the Purity diner after our Sunday visits to the Brooklyn Public library, a treat that would have been considered out of the question by my penny-pinching mother.

I remember the musty smell and excitement of a box of children’s books being given away by a neighbor.  It was a new smell and still a beloved one.

I remember my dog Rinny swinging our cat Tippy around, the cat’s head in the dog’s mouth.

I remember that our back yard seemed like a giant wonderland, each square foot and tree and plant a joyous discovery.

I remember planting carrots and carnations in our backyard with my father, who first got rid of pebbles in the soil by shaking the dirt through a home made screen box.

I remember my mother always browning the tomato paste in the pot before adding the canned tomatoes when making spaghetti sauce.

I remember the comforting sound of buses rumbling by our house on their way to the bus station two blocks away.

I remember painting the staircase every year in preparation for Christmas.

I remember the smell of my Shirley Temple doll and the perfection of her face.

I remember wanting but never getting a Betty Crocker kitchen for little girls.  It could actually bake a tiny cake using a light bulb.

I remember running through fields in Rhode Island between the houses of Cousin Florence and her daughter Flossie.

I remember clam cakes made by my Rhode Island Aunt Mary and eating everything but the clams.

I remember picking blueberries in Rhode Island and the joy of eating them right off the bush.

I remember trying to shave using my father’s razor at age 5 and my mother telling me that that was the most dangerous thing I could do.  Even worse than sharks? I asked.

I remember my bachelor Uncle Alfie coming to our house on either a Monday or Tuesday, parking his big rig outside, watching television with us, protesting that he didn’t want to eat dinner, but always joining us.

I remember sitting in Uncle Alfie’s car and pushing buttons and turning the steering wheel and feeling rich to be in a car.

I remember the acrid taste and sandy consistency of the peanut butter on the brown bread used to make PB&J sandwiches on the Hospital Boat on which we used to take trips.

I remember the huge vats of rainbow colored liquid candy later to be turned into lollipops at the Brach’s manufacturing company.

I remember seeing the process of making Taystee Bread in the factory and receiving a miniature loaf to take home.

I remember singing the girl scout song and feeling like an important part of a larger and caring community.

I remember pulling the flower buds off the Rose of Sharon bush in our backyard.

I remember sun flashing off of cars in the afternoon at the Brooklyn Zoo and thinking that Sunday was named so because the sun always shone on that day.

I remember eating fried squash sandwiches in the house of a new friend in Rhode Island and asking my mother if she would make them.  She became insulted, considering such food beneath us.

I remember taking a small ceramic squirrel to school with me so I could take care of him the whole day.