Aunt Bernice

I had Aunts named Bernice, Dorothy and Marjorie. They…won’t. I remember davenports, ice boxes and cellars. They…won’t. I can recall going places like the five and dime and the soda shoppe. They…won’t. And that’s just fine. In fact, that’s how it should be. I’m old…they’re young. I have my memories and they’ll have theirs. Time does march on. And it only takes our good old days along with it for a while. Today becomes yesterday…yesterday becomes a memory…and memories eventually fade away when there is no one left to remember. And like I said, that’s just fine. That’s the way it should be. It does make me smile though to think about Grandmas with names like Jordan and Whitney. And those future after Thanksgiving dinner conversations about Grandpa’s Xbox, antique laptop and that thing they used to call a smartphone. Nope, they’ll never have an Aunt Bernice or sit on a davenport or spend a quarter at the five and dime. They will recall different things…just as warmly…just as fondly. And that’s the way it should be.