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By MARIAN B. FINDEISON
© St. Petersburg Times, published August 5, 2001
A roll down memory lane
Every fall I visit my sister in northwestern New York for a few weeks. On the last day of my most recent visit we were wandering through beautiful Mendon Park on a lovely Indian summer day. Conversation turned toward memories of our childhood, as it usually did, especially when the time of our parting was so near.
Evelyn was showing me the drumlyns, little hills made by glaciers. I heard the voices and shouts of the children in the distance, saw the beautiful hills around us and stopped. Suddenly one hill -- a wonderful little hill -- stood out from the others. "The Greenhill?" I said. "Do you remember the Greenhill?"
Of course she remembered it, even the proper way to pronounce it: accent on green and said as though it were one word. She remembered the joy we had rolling down that long hill on the way home from school.
We looked at each other. A wordless conversation took place.
"No one would ever know."
"We may never have another chance at our ages."
We could still hear the voices of children in the distance, and it was more than I could bear.
My eyes said, "I will if you will."
Hers said, "I dare you."
I took off my shoes and made one concession to old age by handing Evelyn my glasses. I lay down full length at the top of the hill. I held my elbows close to my ribs, remembering as though it was yesterday. Then, covering my face with my hands, I pushed off.
I started to roll, slowly at first, then faster and faster until the whole world was spinning. Grass got in my nose and mouth and I didn't know where I was or even who I was. It didn't matter, because it was the most wonderful feeling ever. When I reached the bottom, the world was reeling, blurring the sky, the trees and the earth, their colors blending and wrapping me in a whirling paisley cocoon. My senses were filled with the sweet smell of grass, the aroma of fresh air and the good flat taste of dirt. I lay there alone -- the central heartbeat of that quiet warm.
I was a little girl again on my way home from school. I remembered the pussy willows I picked, and the violets. Where had I left my shoes? I felt the scratch of the grasses, I heard the katydids singing. I remembered Evelyn! Suddenly I knew I was an old lady who had just rolled down a hill in New York and left my sister at the top. I thought I'd better check to see if I hurt anywhere when I heard a scream and felt a bump. Evelyn had followed and rolled right into me and was a part of my cocoon.
"The sky and earth and trees are all mixed up," she called, and they were. We rolled over on our stomachs, laughing as though we couldn't stop or didn't want to -- all old lady thoughts gone. Soon she heard the katydids too, and the birds that had fluttered near to see the sight. The world returned to normal as the dizziness stopped. We were the same two sisters. Gradually reality took over and we sat up and checked each other and ourselves for bruises. We had none. God does look after babies and fools.
- Marian B. Findeison lives in Largo.