(Pieces of a Life)

It is interesting and nostalgic to find a pile of random objects in your sock drawer and ask yourself – why did I keep this? Looking for something else I found a pile of these random printed things that I had kept over the years. The why for many of these is obvious. Most are cards that express love for me from Cheryl. I know why I kept them. Neither of us has been very poetic, romantic or good at expressions of love to each other. I mean that in the literary sense. We have always expressed our love for each other.

The employees at Hallmark and American Greetings are expert at expressing emotional thoughts. Cheryl would write Paul or To my dear husband at the top of the verse and sign below with simply Cheryl. I know why I kept them. I kept them because when I read them now I hear her voice. She is so much better than I am at marking life events with a card.

Sometimes things mark the first of some event, so, it is necessary to keep a record. In this particular pile is an old scorecard from a golf game I played with a friend from work. Circled on the card and highlighted with arrows is a “3” scored on a par four hole on an old Cincinnati golf course. The notation is “the first birdie for Gerbs” and the card is attested to by Rick Hilt.

I play golf very little these days. I still enjoy a round with my sons or grandson but it is no longer a passion as it once was. My very first round of golf I played with my father and my brother long ago on Blue Ash golf course. The course was brand new. It had only nine holes. My brother had chased his job to Florida but was back for a visit. It was a special occasion and I had asked for a day off from work to play. Bill gave me his driver, a tee and a ball and said, “Just swing it around a bit and get loose. When you are ready to hit, just think smooth.” I can still hear him say that. I was young, skinny and inexperienced.

The teeing area was elevated slightly but across the front of the tee was a riff in the landscape that drained the land in a rainstorm. The landing area for the experienced drivers began one hundred and fifty yards to the fore. The landing area for the hackers was the riff. The pressure to stay away from the dry weedy creek bed was great. As I approached the ball with my brother’s driver he said to me, “Remember. Smooth just think smooth.” I kept thinking smooth as I took the club head back. Being inexperienced and skinny I was unsure of grip and other nuances to send the ball rapidly into the hackers paradise below. As I swung the club forward I stayed with his advice, smooth.

I am sure it happened too fast but as I think about it, it is all in slow motion in my memory. The club impacted the ball squarely through the bottom of the arc. My body followed it around and through. As I lifted my eyes to follow the ball on its flight, it moved straight away from me for twenty or thirty yards of flight and then gently rose and headed to the experienced drivers landing area away from the surrounding clover, the weedy creek bed and the trees. It struck the ground two hundred or so yards from me and ran up the slight grade of the short grass for another fifty yards into the heal of the slight dogleg left fairway.

I was ecstatic and proud of my effort as I handed my brother his driver back and asked, “Like that?” He grabbed his club and switched to competition mode. My brother Bill was a scratch golfer and an excellent Bridge player through most of his life. He said, “Why don’t you have your own sticks?” He approached his ball and hit a very fine drive and when his ball stopped out in the fairway it was only a few feet beyond mine. It was the best drive from the tee that I ever hit playing golf. I had almost out drove my big brother. He felt the need to compete with me. It was a good day although that was it for my first golf game. I was in hacker’s paradise for the rest of the round.

In another handwritten letter, I have been “ripped a new one” by the mother of a child that played on a soccer team with my daughter. I kept it all these years for a couple reasons. It was the first time I have been ripped a new one in such elegant cursive and her reasoning did not carry any weight after my daughter pointed out that her daughter was an only child.

Memories like this come flooding back as I hold various objects from my very own junk drawer.

I still see Linda and occasionally talk to her because she is a dear friend of our neighbor Jane. They are both gardeners and talk often. Jane has had several bouts with lymphoma in her life. During a couple of these Linda called me and asked if I had seen Jane. How was she doing? And so forth. My response was to knock on Jane’s door and ask her to please call Linda. Linda was worried.

I do not know if she remembers the soccer incident.

There is a completely random collection of matchbooks from my old days of smoking. I suppose I was worried about running out of lights for my cigars and cigarettes. These were originally ensconced in a decorative water pitcher that resided on top of our hope chest in the bedroom. About two years ago our granddaughter was visiting and during part of that visit Cheryl began routing through the hope chest for something. When they were done the pitcher was put inside the chest. (This was probably another presentation of Cheryl’s slipping mental acuity.)

Some of the match boxes and packs evoke memories of times past. French Lick Springs resort is a wonderful memory. Cheryl and I went there early in our lives. It was part of Sheraton Hotels at the time and it was still just that, a resort hotel with a golf course and tennis and a built in nightclub. Meals were included in the room price. If your round of golf was scheduled over the luncheon hour, a call to the kitchen provided a box lunch on the cart when you appeared at the clubhouse. There were two swimming pools but the one immediately adjacent to the hotel had a roll back cover so that it could be used in winter and in the summer months was reserved for adults only. I remember sitting next to Cheryl poolside dangling my feet in the water and a guy approached in a jacket and bow tie and asked if I would like a drink. I ordered a gin and tonic. Cheryl ordered rose wine. I signed the check with my room number. It was elegant and chic.

For dinner one evening we ordered a Caesar salad. The head waiter prepared it table side and made the dressing there in front of us. At another time after dinner we ordered cherries jubilee. It too was prepared table side with a little flair and elegance as the sherry is set on fire and the alcohol is burned off. It is not the same as a time share.

There are several restaurants represented. There are also several packs of matches from the wedding of Diane and Ron. I wonder who they are.

There is a stack of old credit cards and ID badges from several work situations. My old Xavier University student ID is there as well as a luggage tag made from an old business card. We keep these items, I do anyway, because they are pieces of a life. They are memories to remember.

They are nostalgic. I do not keep bad memories in my junk drawer. A couple of those are on full display in my office atop my computer. There are good remembrances there too.

All are pieces of a life.

Carpe Diem.