time stands still when I remember

Time stands still when I remember
Those names and places from long ago.
Snippets of sound and memories,
Scents that stir the cortex and warm the heart.

Am I growing old that I live in the past
Where memories hold more for me?
Where the men were handsome
And the babies all sweet?

The sound of laughter or argument
Dredged up by a turn of phrase or song
Bring back that time when
Around a table full of friends and relatives
Each talked louder than the other
Trying to be heard over the din
And bringing a satisfied smile to
My mother’s face.

I understand now
Why she cooked those meals
And set a plate for more than expected.
She knew they would come,
Pulled by the need to connect;
To feel at home again with memories.

We were children once
At that same table.
Milk spilled, bread torn apart
Throwing crumbs everywhere.
Salad was served last.
Garlic filled the air,
And the orange red of tomatoes
Splattered the white stove.

Everyone wanted to dip the bread
Or stir the sauce.
Releasing the aroma
And bringing comfort.
Momma would yell “Get away from the stove!”
But no one listened
She didn’t mean it.
Once long ago,
She bragged of her son
Stirring the pot
and eating all the meatballs.

I understand her smile,
Her nodding as she told the tales.
She is gone now
As have so many Cousins,
Aunts and Uncles..
Moved away from the old homes
To where there is more room to
Barbeque.

I fill the void with new neighbors
Introducing them to the old ways
Telling them to let the children play
That the table is set, and the game is on
The men congregate around the wide screen,
The women at the kitchen table.
Each gossip in their own ways.
Men talk of sports and ignore work
While women talk of work and ignore the game.
Neither realize it is one and the same.

History is how we remember the past
The stories we tell our children
Become the fabric of their lives.
Our getting by
becomes their tradition
And helps to build future memories
For the circle to continue.

I rock in my chair
And look out the window
Hearing the door close
And the tread on the stairs
Smelling momma’s food
All those memories
The view out the window
Is not what’s there..