A reflective mood

My mind has been going back to the time when I was a young wife and mother.

Most of that time I was living in Louisiana, then in Indiana.

Perhaps the reason I'm being reflective is because my grown daughter recently asked me to write a series of essays about the time when she was a baby and a toddler and beyond.

She wanted a record of those times she couldn't remember.

I told her about the first time I took her to church. I hadn't been attending for long but I had met a young woman who was pregnant and an older woman who also was expecting her first baby. We chatted about that, before church sometimes.

The three of us had our babies at about the same time. We happened to be in church together that Sunday morning when we brought our newborns to church service. The babies were about six weeks old, maybe two months.

When I unwrapped the blanket around my daughter, the two other mothers stared with their mouths open.

"What have you been feeding that baby?" they wanted to know.

"Breast milk,'' I answered.

Their babies were bottlefed and seemed to be all scrawny arms and legs.

My daughter had rolls of fat on her arms and legs and her double chin hid her neck.

I was proud that she had a few strands of reddish hair because my grandfather, mother, sister and three aunts were all redheads.

She was a good baby and slept all night while my friends' babies were fussy and kept them awake at night, they said.

Then there was the time when our little rented cottage near Peru, Indiana, was surrounded by flood waters.

News reports had warned that the Wabash River would overflow its banks.We lived several miles from the river so we paid no mind to the warning. However, just behind our country cottage was a narrow creek, called Pike's Creek. It wasn't deep and it wasn't wide. In the wintertime it froze over, and we would glide on it using the children's snow sled.

By that time, my husband and I had our second child, a son.

That night I awoke to a roaring sound outside the bedroom window.

I looked out into the darkness to see swirling waters rushing past the window. The once peaceful creek had overflowed its banks and was now a violent outburst of water. I woke my husband then hurried into my daughter's small room to check on her. In her room, I stepped into water that had seeped into her room but had not reached the other floors, as yet.

Panic set in as we assessed the situation. What had been a driveway and a dirt road in front of the house was now nothing but a sea of water. We were isolated and surrounded by strong rushing waters. And we had no nearby neighbors to call for help.

My husband was able to alert someone at the nearby airbase and help was soon on the way.

Firemen and other military rescue workers made their way down the flooded road to our house. The only memory my daughter had of that night was of a fireman carrying her piggyback through the flood waters to a small boat. He told her not to worry because he would take care of her.

We were taken out by boat to a waiting truck where we were driven to the air base for lodging until the waters receded.

The cleanup operation was something else, but I can describe it best with one word.......mud.

There was also the time my daughter fell into a cactus plant; a large one.

That was in Albuquerque. We were living in a small rented remodled garage at the time. Because we were a military family on temporary duty, no one wanted to rent to us. They wanted more permanent residents. All we could find was the converted garage. In the yard was an area of plants, mostly cactus. I warned my daughter to stay clear because the cactus needles were sharp.

But one day while at play she stumbled and fell into a large cactus plant. I spent hours removing the needles, one by one. She does recall that incident, but not the particulars.

In the military, families stuck together. We visited one another, and our children played together. One day I took my small daughter to visit one of my close friends. She also had a daughter, younger than mine. While the two girls played in the kitchen, my friend and I visited in the living room. Suddenly her daughter let our a high pitched scream and we went running. It seems my daughter had bitten her daughter

But all over the kitchen floor was spilled washing powders, flour, and other like substances. There were also many pots and pans on the floor. Seems the girls had decided to empty out the bottom kitchen cabinets.. After many years, those two girls remain friends, although distance has kept them apart.

My friend and I have remained close friends too.

She has gone full circle and now lives in her native Louisiana.

We write occasionally, and telephone.

And the memories linger on.

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