The motivation for this tale came from my granddaughter, Sarah. As I now recall, it must have been six or seven months ago when my recollections of the "good old days" became too monotonous and tedious for her to endure, so she asked a question which I was quite willing to provide an answer for. "So what was so great about those days; those days when you were young?" There it was, the question for which I thought I had an abundance of answers.
"Those were simpler times. Those were the days when I was happy with a Hula-Hoop; a curved circular piece of plastic. I remember the pockets of my blue jeans bulging because they were filled with cat's eye marbles. The television stations stopped broadcasting at midnight, leaving only a test pattern on the black and white screen. I never knew exactly why, but when the power knob was rotated to the off position on the console TV, the picture faded to black. Then, slowly, the blackness faded away, leaving only a small white dot that eventually disappeared, but that was all right.
I remember morning walks to school, my grandmother's fried bologna sandwiches and Dog-n-Suds root beer. Summer afternoons were spent at the park as my friends and I ran and chased those batted baseballs. I played songs on my 99-cent 45 rpm records until the grooves wore out, and I remember my first real Duncan Imperial yo-yo. I guess I like things to stay the way were; you know, without changing.
I'd like to give you a personal and very recent example of what I'm talking about. "OK, I'm listening," she said as she leaned back in her chair. "You may or may not remember that a marker, a headstone, with mine and your grandmother's names is located in a little Arkansas cemetery named Lee Cemetery."
"Yeah, I think I knew that, although, if you asked me for the name of the cemetery I would not have remembered it."
"Well, anyway, it's a patch of ground in the middle of nowhere located between Sulphur Springs and Gravette. Your grandmother and I selected this cemetery for our headstone because the land there was so pristine. It was surrounded by pastures and the unspoiled countryside just seemed to strike a chord with the two of us.
About 15 years ago, and even before the two of us moved to Noel, we bought two plots in the cemetery. We picked out a spot under a tree near the North corner of the cemetery just 15 or so feet from the so-called driveway that passes through the land. Well, I call it a driveway but it was actually little more than two worn patches where the occasional movement of car tires killed the grass.
Robin and I selected a granite marker and had our names and birth dates inscribed. Of course we thought we might live forever so the date of our demises was left off. The marker was placed alongside the two plots and everything was as it should be; at least in our minds. My great-aunt Rosalyn, her parents and her uncle rested just across the tire tracks from our marker, so the cemetery had a family history as well.
Moving right along and getting nearer to the point, your grandmother died in July of 2013 and the date which was purposely left missing from the stone was engraved into the hard granite. That was a sad time for me, as I'm sure it was for you, but the plans we made and the place that she wanted her name to remain seemed so quiet and peaceful. It was a place that I love to visit off and on and a place where I can still talk to her.
As is sometimes my custom, I visited the cemetery this past Memorial Day weekend. I went to your grandmother's resting place with the intent to give a monetary donation to the nice lady who often sits alongside a table near the entrance to the grounds on that yearly observed holiday weekend.
Sure enough, as I parked near the entrance, there she was just as she had been many times in the past. I looked around the cemetery and although it was a dark, cloudy and dreary afternoon the grass-covered rolling land caused a soothing and calming sensation to well up inside me. It was where Robin wanted to be.
As I greeted the cordial woman, I extended my hand and gave her my donation. She thanked me and said the money was greatly appreciated as upgrades to the cemetery were in the planning stages. I asked for more specifics regarding those upgrades.
She smiled, looked over her shoulder at the cemetery grounds and began to describe the changes. It seemed as though more ground was going to be leveled. Trees would need to be removed and the road, the driveway as it were, would certainly need to be greatly improved. She explained that more younger people expressed an interest in buying plots, however, they wanted changes -- you know so-called upgrades.
I told her I didn't care for the changes and asked the well-meaning lady why the wishes of someone like me, someone of advanced years, were going to be ignored so the desires of others, younger others, might be accommodated. She looked stunned, as if she couldn't believe that anyone might have concerns, objections if you will, to the proposed changes.
I told her that my wife and other relatives had markers there and this resting place was selected specifically because of the land and its simple nature. Our conversation ended as she told me that my concerns would be passed on. Well, that's my last example of why I like some things left untouched and why I believe simple and uncomplicated is really not all that bad. Some things are fine the way they are and folks should just leave well enough alone."
My granddaughter leaned forward after a moment of silence and thought.
"What about the people who want to be buried there? Why can't they ask that some changes be made?"
"What about me? What about Robin, Rosalyn and her parents and uncle? I believe that the cemetery should be left as it was when your grandmother and I decided to place our headstone there and as for the new folks, well, maybe they should find a resting place that better suits their needs."
"OK, I get it, but things do and must change. After all, what would the world be like without smart-phones and email?"
"I don't know, but the thought of a world without those things is intriguing. I'll end my opinionated dissertation with the following; I miss my old Keds tennis shoes, my Levi's with the rolled-up cuffs and the baseball cards attached to the spokes of my Schwinn Wasp bicycle."
"I suppose that more than anything else I'm just reflecting on my own life. You've heard of water erosion? You know how water eventually and over time eats away at the earth itself."
"Of course," she rather nonchalantly replied. "Everyone knows about water erosion."
"Well then, I think time and life itself has worn on me and I call it, life erosion."
Our conversation then neared its conclusion as she remarked, "I get it but life erosion, really?"
"Well, not like the Grand Canyon kind of erosion but yeah, life erosion."
Sarah's patience was obviously wearing thin.
"Oh, there's one more thing I forgot to mention about the good old days."
"What's that?"
"Well back then a little dab of rose-colored Mercurochrome fixed just about any ailment."
Sarah sighed.
"What's Mercurochrome?"
Stan Fine is a retired police officer and Verizon Security Department investigator who, after retiring in 2006, moved from Tampa, Fla., to Noel. Stan's connection to Noel can be traced back to his grandparents who lived most of their lives there. Stan began writing after the passing of his wife Robin in 2013. Opinions expressed are those of the author.
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