The Story of Nana #1: Digging for Buried Treasure with Richard

My daughter gave me a book a while back that I am supposed to fill in with stuff about me. If gives you lots of prompts and then space to write. Something to share with my granddaughter so she can get to know me.  I filled in the basics. Where and when I was born, who my parents are, my grandparents, siblings, and so on.  But then it starts getting hard.  Like did you have a favorite blanket? Does a stuffed mouse count?  What did you do for Valentine's Day?  Stupid school parties and heart shaped cookies. Isn't that what everyone does when they are a kid? Was I supposed to do something else? What did I miss out on?  What is your favorite spring time memory?  Why just spring time? What if I have summer memory? What if it is not a good memory? I remember when a stick shoved in my cousin's eye and she had to have her eyeball removed or something like that. I don't think I was there when it happened, but I remember it. I remember her having a patch on her eye and someone telling us what happened?  It seems like she was hunting for Easter eggs with her other cousins and tripped.  But maybe I was there and it just feels like a story. That's the problem with memories. I don't know if I actually remember things or if I just know about them.  Truthfully, I don't remember a lot.  I am HORRIBLE at remembering things from a long time ago--like last week. People be like, "hey remember that time when....blah blah blah."  NOPE!  I don't.  In fact, let's just agree that if any sentence starts with the words "remember when" or "remember that time" that I don't. I don't even remember things about my own children. What kind of Mom doesn't remember every detail of her children's lives? "Hey Mom, did I have this or do that when I was young?" I don't know...ask your dad. He usually remembers.

But then like I said before even when I think I remember something, I don't know if I am actually remembering it or if I just remember someone telling me about it, or, frankly, if it was a dream that I thought was a real. Cuz' there are definitely a couple of those. Like DO I actually remember when the stick went in my cousin's eye or do I just remember people describing it? I don't know. I have always been a book nerd and had a pretty active imaginary life. I can create very vivid images of things I read or think. I was a bit of a loner and created whole worlds in my mind. So, sometimes I am not sure if things happened or if I made them up. Dreamed it. Read it. Or heard it. There is one in particular-- aside from Sissy's stick in the eye thing--that I truly thought happened. I have actually told people the story as if it was real--because I thought it was. It's a very sad non-memory.  Makes me tear up thinking about it. Of course it never happened so there is no reason to tear up, but that is how real it feels. But turns out...never happened.  I asked both of my parents about it. They looked at me like I was crazy. NOPE. Never happened. I made it up. Dreamed it. Invented it. Totally a Debz World thing. I remember every detail of it though--including all the emotions.  But things that really happened-- no clue.

I have definitely lived a life. I have done a lot of stuff, gone a lot of places, had some fun experiences. It's just that I don't really remember being a kid. I just don't. Maybe I wasn't a kid. Maybe I am some weird experiment or alien that just appeared when I was a young adult and my family all agreed to take me on and never tell me about it. There are a lot of pictures of me as a kid. Really cute ones too. Of me posing with phones and props. Of me and my brothers and my cousins, and grandparents, and great-grandparents, and horses, and all kinds of stuff. Of course they could be be faked. Someone could have just recreated those to make it seem like I had a childhood.  We don't have any actual proof that I was ever a small human besides my parents and they might just be trying to protect me.  I should talk to my brother and cousins to see if they have any early memories of me. I could be on to something here. I probably couldn't get my parents to admit that I was part of an experiment but I might be able to get my brother or my cousins to crack. They have probably been waiting to tell me forever! Wouldn't you?  Perhaps, it is not that I can't remember things, maybe it's just there isn't anything to remember. Hmmmmm.....

I read something recently about remembering and how people should write things down or that somebody wrote something down...what the heck was I reading? Hold on. Oh! A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller (thanks for the recommendation, Sue!). In this book, the dude talks about creating a meaningful life or making a difference or living with intention or something. Anyways, he talks about stuff. He brings up this point about life being made up of moments and how we don't really remember those moments. But then he shares the story of a guy who writes down everything he can remember about his life. Every moment no matter how small and the guy has like 1000's of pages of memories or two pages-- definitely something in between there.  So, now I am thinking maybe I just can't remember on demand. What is my favorite spring time memory? I don't know.  That time when I wasn't on self-quarantine and went outside my house? That is a good one. In fact, they are all my favorites when they are happening and then I forget them when I am done.   I am like Drew Barrymore in 50 First Dates, only that's my life every day and there is no traumatic brain injury---that I am aware of....or is there? Maybe, I am like that weird book I read when I was a teenager about a girl who had accident and her parents recreated her life for her so she wouldn't remember the accident.  Hmmmmm....... Wait...where was I? Oh yeah, maybe I just can't remember on demand. So, what if I just write down everything I can remember and see what comes out. Let's try it. 

The most vivid memory I have from when I was young is of digging for buried treasure with my brother Richard. We lived in this cool, old house. Big yard. Trees. Fireplace--maybe.It was in Trawick...right out of side of  Cushing.  It was 1973 (I know that because my mother put a picture of it in a cookbook she made and labeled it as 1973--thanks, Mom!)  Anyway, so we lived in this cool house with a big yard and at the edge of the driveway was a giant rock buried in the dirt. My brother, Richard, decided it was a treasure chest and we needed to dig it up. He was very excited and passionate about it--as he was about most of his ideas. HIS being the operative word. Everything with him was 150% all the time! He was all in or all out. No in between. This day he was all in. I can see him now with his giant smile urging me to dig faster and keep going because we were almost there. We dug for what felt like hours--or at least it seems like hours now. Who knows how long it really was. I think I actually was doing most of the digging and he was doing most of the directing, but in the picture we are both pretty covered in mud so it was probably a joint effort.  

My memories of this moment are that it was so much fun. We were having a blast and were totally committed to this adventure. We were determined we were going to find a treasure and Richard had all kinds of ideas about what we would do with it.  For however long that moment lasted, my brother and I were in our own little world. Our own space in time. It was a magical moment.  Well, shit... now I am crying because I miss my brother and it really sucks that I can't call him up and share this memory with him. Maybe there is some advantages to not remembering things after all. Excuse me for a minute.....

Anyway, my mom stopped us eventually--or maybe we just got tired of digging--but either way we were COVERED in mud from the tops of our heads to the toes of cowboy boots. I remember that we were a little nervous that we were going to get trouble for being such a mess and we knew we weren't going to be able to track all that mud inside. But I don't think we got in trouble.  There are no negative feelings associated with this memory at all.  It seems like my mom laughed with us, sprayed us off with a garden hose, and listened to our stories about digging for treasure.  You can see from the blurry pic that we were pretty happy with ourselves!   It was a good day. 

What would I share about this day with my grandchildren? The joy, the love, the excitement, and the adventure that my brother created for me. Since my brother is no long with us, this is the perfect story to share who he was to me. I would encourage them to embrace opportunities, play in the mud, create stories, find joy in the #everydayadventures, take lots of pictures, and keep a journal so you don't lose those moments! The individual moments are EVERYTHING.

For Ryder, Kota, and Benntli.....the beginning of the story of Nana.