Memory Lane

This past weekend was sort of a stroll down memory lane for me.  

I know I snarked not that long ago about farm auctions, but over the weekend I had occasion to go with Captain to one, mainly because it happened to be Mama Bear’s folks having the auction.

I went for moral support, socialization, and Cubby time.  Captain went for all of those reasons as well, but he was also looking for a bulk bin for calf feed.  There were three very nice ones on this auction, so he was hoping to get one.  

No such luck.

When the auctioneer got to these three lots, the bidding went from $400 to $950 in two blinks of an eye.  Captain didn’t even have a chance to get his bidding number out of his coat pocket!  Plus, the winning bidder took all three bins instead of just one or two.  Darn!

The other objective Captain had was to maybe bid on some hay for a friend who couldn’t attend the auction.  He looked over the hay when we first got there, then we did some socializing, and then I lost track of him while I was holding Cubby...who really didn’t want anything to do with me anyway.  Cubby went back to Mama Bear, and I wandered around trying to spot Captain’s brown Carhartt jacket and gimme elevator cap.  

The problem?

There were hundreds of farmers there, all wearing brown winter jackets and gimme elevator hats!  Oh well, I stopped to do some more socializing while they were selling the hay.  After they’d moved on from the hay, I looked around harder for Captain and still couldn’t find him.  Oh well, he’s a big boy and can take care of himself.  I wandered back toward the porta potties...and there he was.  Wouldn’t you know it, the two guys he was with were in brown coats and gimme hats.  

I sort of lost track of the auction progress for awhile but clued back in when they got to the last three lots of the auction.  These were classic cars that Mama Bear’s folks have owned for years and kept in pristine condition.  

There was a lot of talk about how cars aren’t made like those muscle cars of days gone by.  I heard people bat around model names like Cyclone, Cougar, GTO, Charger, and Barricuda.  Those names don’t mean anything to me, except the Charger.  I know that’s the General Lee.  I’m just not a car person.  

But, all the talk about classic cars made me think of Ford Mustangs, which is my dream car.  If I ever have large pots of disposable income (excuse me while I roll on the floor laughing), I will buy myself a 1966 Mustang with a cherry red exterior and white leather interior.  

Why the Mustang, you might wonder?  Well, it’s not because I really know anything about them other than they are cute.  It’s because they bring back memories of my youth.  Kinda cliche, right?

My fascination with the Mustang began back in my much younger days when there was a show on TV called Barnaby Jones.  Barnaby was played by Buddy….not Holly, that was the singer.  Not Hackett, that was the guy in The Love Bug.

Buddy...Buddy...Buddy...Ebsen.  That’s it!  The same guy who played Jed Clampett in the Beverly Hillbillies.  Anyway, Barnaby was a private investigator, and the junior investigator was, to my junior-high mind, oh so handsome!  In the show, he drove a dark green Mustang, and since I was drooling over the guy, I drooled over the car as well.  

I didn’t have any up close and personal experience with a Mustang until I was in high school when one of my best friends had one.  I’m not sure of the year, but it was a red exterior and white interior, and I thought it was the coolest car I’d ever seen.  Hence, the color scheme of my dream car.

My friend and I were nearly inseparable our junior year, and I have many good memories of riding shotgun in her Mustang.  We talked about our hopes, dreams, and heartaches.  We talked religion, faith, and science in that car.  Even though we drifted apart--as people do after high school--to this day, when I see a classic Mustang, I think of my friend fondly.  I always wonder if she thinks of me when she sees cows!  That sounds bad now that I said it outloud...

The trip down memory lane continued on Sunday when Captain and I went to Nelson, Wisconsin, to the cheese factory there.  Young Man had his first ice cream cone at the Nelson Cheese Factory in the summer of 1992 when he was just over a year old.  It was probably the hottest day of that summer, and Young Man’s cone melted so fast that it splatted on the pavement as we were walking back to the car.  Can we say disappointed little boy?!  I offered to share my cone with him, but apparently mint chocolate chip wasn’t what he wanted.  Whenever I am in or around Nelson, I can’t help but remember our niece, Sloane, and the day our families spent together just before she died.  Gotta say, that one always hurts.  

We ended our rambles yesterday at Oxbow Zoo, where we can’t escape the memories of all the times we took the kids there, whether just to the zoo; to have a picnic and visit the zoo; or to camp and visit the zoo.  I can see the kids hanging over the Prairie Dog silo just amazed at those little guys racing around here and there.  I can hear them laughing over the antics of the otters in the pond.  I can see them racing across the grass toward the buffalo and elk exhibits.  Yesterday we sat on the bench that is in memory of Captain’s best friend, whom we lost two years ago.  The tree that we donated to the park in his friend’s memory shades the bench.  It was a nice spot to reminisce.

Sometimes memories are comforting, and sometimes memories are painful.  That just means that we have lived and loved, which is really all anyone can ask for.