A Memory

In a small book of quotes from Mr. Rogers he suggests that sharing memories is a great way to spend our times together.

My first conscious memory:  I am standing outside of a large, black car. It is about 1954. We live in a small Virginia town. Night has fallen. It must be cold because I am wearing a coat, a hat and maybe gloves. I am upset. I am missing the powder puff to my child's purse size make-up  kit. It is a brief memory. I am miserable and intensely disappointed. It seems the powder puff meant a great deal to me. I have a slight sense, in the memory, that my parents have spent more than their usual amount of time trying to help me find it and I know we are going in the house very soon. The memory ends.

These many years later I feel that memory as much as see it. What I see, of course, is the space between an open car door and the inside of the car. What I clearly remember is wanting that powderpuff and being hurt and angry realizing. that the pink container is nothing without the puff.

That's it. Proof that I was once a girly girl!