On the wall of my TV room, I have a collage of pictures in which every one of them has my dog, Chewbacca, in some stage of his life with someone who was in my life at that time. It covers a span of nine years: there he is alone as a mischievous puppy ready to pounce on the world, and again there he is right before he died, basking in the sun on my front porch in Richmond, Indiana where I was living during that time.
Now he is with his doggy mommy and daddy, my sister’s Pomeranian, Niesa, and my aunt’s Yorkie, Jud, with some pictures of my aunt and cousin and another with my sister taken in South Carolina where they were living when he became part of this world.
Oh, here is my neighbor, Carvin (I miss just running across the street to have a cup of coffee and a chat) and another with my daughter younger and so carefree, and there is my son with the girl who became my daughter-in-law several years later with Chewbacca irritating her since he could be a real trial for her, especially after he stole her contacts and ran with them after she left them in his reach. I had told her he was like having a two-year-old around—nothing was safe in his reach. She found this out the hard way as she chased him around as he ran with these contacts she as a poor college student could not afford to replace not mentioning that she was blind without them. And yes, they are holding her sister’s son who is now grown into a young man. And there he is with his cat, Bijou, who was his best friend and combatant. I still have Bijou and she is now almost fourteen years old. My oldest companion.
And there we are together. Several times and at different stages of his life and my life too. Picture after picture after picture each with a special memory.
I sure loved that dog. Of course, I loved all my dogs, but this dog was my special dog. He was known by the entire neighborhood, and when he died, everyone attended his funeral. He was my friend. He was my only companion for the majority of those years. My children had grown up and moved away from home. I had some health problems during that time and he was my constant companion. He loved me and he was a terror.
Why am I thinking of this? Well, it reminded me that my life has been like that. A series of collages made up of memories. There is my first collage from West Virginia where I was born and lived until almost twelve years old. This collage is not in a picture I can show someone as I can show this Chewbacca nine years, but it is in my mind the same way. Not an unbroken period of time, but a series of remembered events that stand out and make it seem what it was during those years. The neighborhood children I played with (Annette, Bonnie, Paul, Joni) and then the Tawney boys, Dick and Tom ... and don’t forget the Russells and the Keefers and the Stewarts and the Dillons next door who were older than the rest of us. That is where I was caught in the electric wire when I was about six or seven years old and my puppy died afterwards because he shared this electric shock with me. And there was the Gilkerson’s house. Mr. Gilkerson who took us to Sunday school on Sunday morning and also took me to the hospital when I got into this electric wire.
Oh, and who can forget the hide-go-seek games under the street light up by the Stewart house and the many ball games we played in the ball park just beyond the Fitzpatrick house. Or Boy, who was the daddy of our dog we took with us when we moved to Ohio when we left. And beyond that is Rotary Park where we all went mountain climbing and Bo Keefer got his shirt almost ripped off his back totally when he was looking for a route up the mountain while we waited at the top for him scared we were going to have to tell his parents he did not show up at the top of the mountain. This would have been especially hard since his brother, Davey, was drowned when he was fifteen years old while swimming in the Guyandot River with several of his friends. I remember he was our babysitter when I was maybe five or six years old and I remember when he died and we went to the funeral home. That was the first time I had ever been to a place like that.
And thoughts and memories of my grandparents who were within walking distance. A whole new set of collages complete within itself.
Oh, yes, my mind is full of these collages. Pictures that when all put together make up my memory of that time. Memories colored by what stands out bolder than other memories that have faded or maybe probably some that are lost to me, but may be in the minds of someone else who shared that time with me.
I will get a chance to find out some of this maybe since I plan to attend a reunion of some who are left from that time next June.
