The Joy Of Sense-Memories!

Marian Pierre-Louis posted about the many things, large and small that can trigger memories of family.  
A few of my own old sense-memories did pop into my mind when I read the article.  That was wonderful!
Jotted down a few notes, web-clipped her post link, and moved on....

But over some time, I now find that it is as if some part of my brain has been working, in the background, unlocking more of those for me, and flashing them up at me when I am relaxed and receptive.  I think that Marian's post acted as the yeast my old memories needed.  And so many of those memories are connected to senses, not censuses, or names and dates.

And, best of all, each of those individual sense-memories seem to be the key to accessing an entire cascade of connected memories!  So many details coming back to me after having been buried deep in a old box in my dusty, musty, over-busy brain-archive.  Mental 'pictures' are something my brain has never done well.  No images.  No photos. No sketches. But I am getting some through these sense-memory triggers!

Just one example:
Brown bread and real butter.  Early taste memory.  That's my maternal grandma, and, regardless of the rest of the great meal, it was my great childhood lust.  [Still invest in real bread and real butter, even if I have to short the rent a bit....]
Led to how the long folding table was set up in the tiny living space when we came to dinner in the early 60s. Led to the details of the rest of the little winterized cottage that was their home.  Led to the place she cooked the great meal on the winterized 'screen porch'.  And mental pictures of all, for once.... Yeehah!
Led to the back yard, and other memories there.  Led to the memory of how far we walked to the lake, and memory of the cottage next door.  Led to the memory that the place the grandparents lived was once owned by my father's family, and that his mother's cousin owned that cottage next door.

Cascades of memories, linked to the sense-memories!  The mere mention of an elderberry bush, the scent of lily of the valley, the sound of particular really old songs,  each have been popping up occasionally, and letting loose avalanches of related memories for different families, and people and times.

My deeper brain seems to be working hard, without getting in my way from day to day, and pulling up sense-related keystones of memory.  I really like this.....

52 Ancestors: Esther B. Peck

Ah, my wonderful Aunt Esther....  When I was growing up, I always wished that she lived next door, rather than a couple of hundred miles away.  The times when we went to visit for a week or so were heaven for me.  She was a walking, talking smile, and she was interested in everything!  She had married a lovely, gentle 'bear' of a man named Clifford Brooks.  I was a little bit in love with him when I was 10....

Esther was born and raised in Cleveland, Ohio, and Cliff was originally from western New York.  He was in sales, and I have always assumed that his travels were how he met Esther, but that is just a guess.  They were married in Cleveland three days before Christmas in 1936.
*UPDATE* -- She was a school teacher in his area of western NY, and they met there.  I love newspapers....

When I was old enough to know them, in the 50s-60s, they were well settled in Chenango Forks, NY, about 50 miles east of where Cliff was born.  They had a wonderful property, the ultimate dream of an "always outdoors" kid like me.

Esther was a high school English teacher (And, yes, got lots of ribbing about "Our Miss Brooks". Google it....)  and she loved words, like I did.  At breakfast, in the nook, with the view of the hills behind the house, we always had crossword puzzles with our English muffins.  She was also a wonderful watercolor artist. Beautiful, subtle landscapes and nature studies.  I truly wish that I had a few of her pieces now.

Then Uncle Cliff would go to the barn and get out the tractor, and let me "drive" (on his lap, with his hand 2 inches from the wheel, and his foot hovering over the brake) up the hill and across the pasture to the spring-fed pond.  First place I got my toes in muck to go swimming.  And, as usual for me, I came back to the house with a couple of  'really cool' specimens of the slithering, slimy sort.  And Aunt Esther would be interested in those, too!  Amazing....

Esther was always willing to talk to us kids, was always fascinating to listen to, and she always listened back. Cliff was always there for us, always willing to help in our 'adventures', and always patient with foibles and minor mischief.

If they had had any children, I would love to meet them.  I suspect that they would also be marvelous people.  But there were no children born to them.   There were some 'children', however.  A great many years later, when Esther was in an assisted-living apartment many miles from where she had taught, living with her sister Ruth, she still received occasional letters from a couple of her 'kids' - people she had taught in English classes, years before, in Chenango Forks.  She apparently stuck in their minds, and was lodged in their hearts, too.  I understand why.

In memory of, and with gratitude to:
Esther Bertis Peck, b 1910, Cleveland, Cuyahoga, Ohio, dau of Remington Peck and Mable Ruby Dowd.   (Esther was my father's older sister.)
Clifford Brooks, b 1909, Mecklenburg, Schuyler, New York, son of John Brooks and Mary Kilmer