Sparks...

I am notorious for having a bad memory.  This is nothing new for me, I have struggled to remember things all my life – people’s names, birthdates, what year something happened – you know the drill.  But now and then something crops up that sparks a specific memory.  That happened to me when Carrie and I were in Salem last week. 

We got there in the late afternoon on Sunday when most things were closed.  No worries.   The purpose of our trip was relaxation so we got settled into our room and just took it easy for a while.  Then we took a little walk and did some window shopping.  We had dinner and relaxed some more in our room at The Merchant.

On our walk around Salem.

I love this dress.  If I were forty years younger and much much thinner, I might have taken it home.

The next morning, we had a very nice breakfast at the hotel before wandering around and doing some actual shopping.  I bought a book.  Surprise!  Then after a very good lunch at Howling Wolf Mexican restaurant, we headed to the beach.

One of the nice little touches for breakfast at The Merchant.

It was a beautiful bright blue day, but it was cold and windy.  Still, we wandered around Salem Willows Park and watched the gulls circling overhead.  That was when the spark hit me.  

At Salem Willows Park, Salem, Massachusetts.

When I was a kid in early grade school, I had a good friend named Kim.  Kim father’s name was Shirley.  That, of course, is apropos of nothing, but it is interesting to me that I remember it.  You don’t meet men named Shirley every day.  At some point during those grade school years, Shirley uprooted Kim and her family and they moved to Ashland, Kentucky.  We kept our friendship going by writing letters to one another, as people did back in the day, and one day I got an invitation to go down to Kentucky to visit Kim.  

I must have been nine or ten at the time.  In any case, I was young.  My parents put me on the train in Middletown, Ohio and I rode it down to Ashland.  I don’t remember much about the train ride itself except that the attendant kindly checked on me now and then to make sure I was okay.  I got there fine.

I also don’t remember much about the visit except that one day, Kim and I were out riding bikes on her street.  I do remember being impressed that her neighborhood had sidewalks something that we never had, because at the time our house was out in the country.  Anyhow, it was summertime and on our bike ride we got hot and stopped to cool down under the shade of a tree.  Kim looked up and as she did, a bird shit on her head. 

Yes, you heard me right.  A bird hit her square on the forehead.  I regretted it immediately and I’ve regretted it ever since, but I laughed.   I have a feeling that that laugh was the beginning of the end of our friendship, because we eventually lost touch and I have no idea what happened to Kim Keller, though I always suspected that she became a nun because that was the phase we were into when we were kids together.  She probably thinks I’m a nun too if she ever thinks of me.  But I’m sure we’re both wrong.  At least I know she’s wrong about me.

If you ever see this blog post, Kim, I’m very sorry I laughed...and I hope you aren't a nun.  Not that there's anything wrong with it.