Marcy O’Brien

Monday was a heavy gray day. A woman walking toward me in the Walmart parking lot smiled. He swept her arm over her head and asked, “Marcy, are you going to write about this?”

Not quite sure what she meant, but tickled that this stranger knew me, I replied, “What, the Walmart parking lot?”

“No,” she grinned, “this weather. It looks ominous.” She was right. It was the darkest midday I’d seen in a long time. Before we parted, we chatted a bit about how I choose column topics – and she got me thinking.

My choice is seldom intended. Sometimes I pluck something from the news, sometimes from an incident very close to home – kitchen accidents, pet behavior, or that great leveler, general stupidity.

Less than two hours later I stumbled on this week’s column subject – which is how it usually happens. I was back home searching in the second floor eaves storage. I was pretty sure that I had stowed a box of brass candlesticks somewhere up there, but so long ago that I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d seen them. Turns out it was the week we moved into this house. Was it possible that the candlesticks hadn’t been moved for 14 1/2 years? Yup it was.

And I knew the exact date after finding the heavy box. The candlesticks were wrapped in the weekend edition of the Warren Times Observer of Saturday, April 23, 2005.

I called on Dear Richard to haul the heavy box to the kitchen while I located the brass polish. I had blithely volunteered the many candlesticks to decorate a large dinner party – never once thinking that I’d have to find them, unwrap them, and polish them. For some reason, I have never learned to control my mouth from making five second promises that take two hours of elbow grease.

But the tarnished candlesticks were each wrapped in a yellowed page of what turned out to be a mini time capsule. So naturally, I lost more time reading the crinkled newsprint as I unfolded each piece. Eventually I sat down to read and empty the box.

In April of 2005, the Times Observer was continuing its series of “One of Us” articles featuring local citizens who made contributions to life in the county. That week the featured lady was Blanche Jenkins, a senior citizen devoted to doing for others, having the personal goal of making one needy person happy every day. I was sorry when they ended this heartwarming feature.

Saturday’s Community Section published four couples’ pictures with their engagement announcements and one wedding picture. Fewer people seem to be getting hitched these days.

Lana Creal reached the coveted title of Life Master at the duplicate bridge game on Wednesday.

Pope Benedict XVI formally began his papacy with a message of outreach. Saturday evening was the beginning of Passover while the Clarendon VFW post was hosting its Leekfest and dance at 7:00 PM.

The classified auto ads included long-gone Mercury Sables, Chrysler Sebrings and Ford Windstars. But Chevy Tahoes, Ford F150 trucks and Honda Civics were as popular then as they are today.

The City of Warren advertised for bids on a fire truck, a 1977 LaFrance pumper. The city also advertised for utility firefighters offering compensation between $5.57 and $7.80 an hour.

Warren’s Tyler Sweet and Eisenhower’s Elisha Jones both qualified for the prestigious Penn Relays in Philadelphia – in the javelin. Collegians and Olympic athletes would also be working out at the relay games. Sounded like a heady weekend for the top track athletes in the state.

The Birthday List was still in the paper back then. And there were two ads for free horse manure.

Regular Saturday columns included Dear Prudence and Dogs, Cats and Other People. The comics are the same today but with the addition of Baby Blues .I remember being skeptical when it first appeared and quickly realized that I recognized those crazy kids, fortunately not daily, but in my memory.

That week the YMCA recognized its volunteers and the paper was scattered with pictures of pre-schoolers taken at various Easter functions. I sat there thinking that these little kids are all either in college or the work force now and how much 14 years affects young lives. Fun speculation. And then of course I thought of 14 years and how it had affected my life. Serious memories.

I don’t imagine we purposely set aside time to think about a clump of the past years very often – be it 14 or 20, 25 or 40. But naturally, instead of throwing away the rumpled pieces of newsprint and hopping to my polishing duties, I sat pondering my past 14 years: the arrival and joy of grandchildren; my son’s return home from his final deployment in Iraq; Tom’s cancer diagnosis and the all-too-brief year before his death; that first year of adjustment to widowhood which included a job offer; meeting Richard and eventually remarrying; back surgery, and the surprising 11 years at the theatre’s helm.

Then while I polished and scrubbed, wiped and buffed the candlesticks, I thought about other highlights and happy times with family and groups of friends, volunteering, holidays, trips,

awards, and bucket list items thrillingly checked off. Then, of course, my mind wandered to physical differences and aging of the same time period. And I mentally closed that door – quickly.

I had stumbled on a cache of happiness that made me realize life isn’t just inexorably sliding day-by- day into old age – that important occurrences happen constantly. 14 is a funny number to contemplate, but think about it I did. A chunk of time well-remembered – a lovely Monday gift.

As I packed up the candlesticks, I started thinking about the plays, concerts, musicals and books of those 14 years . . . .

Never give a daydreamer a task with a time limit. Even 14 years isn’t enough.

Marcy O’Brien is a member of the National Society of Newspaper Columnists. She can be reached at Moby.32@hotmail.com.