My Keychain Defines Me

Post last updated: December 17th, 2017

There are approximately 80 to 100 feet between my front door and Momma’s back door. Having no desire to meet the boogeyman face-to-face, more often than not, I lock my door when I go down to Momma’s. My keychain ends up on her kitchen counter.

The other day, the keychain became a source of controversy, maybe disgust, for Momma. Time and illness have stolen some of Momma’s short term memory including the details of how a toy tractor, all two inches of it, happened to become attached to my keychain. She was absolutely certain, however, that it did not fit the image she wanted for her eldest daughter. In her mind, its okay for me to grow a few vegetables out back and she mostly forgets about the compost bins but the toy tractor is just WRONG.

I had to remind her that in 2009 when Poppie and I went shopping for a new riding mower for the plantation (we share the resources), I was, um, a tad too enthusiastic about the salesman’s tractor keychain. Naturally, he was fresh out of these keychains and I was unable to acquire one for myself. Poppie, however, remembered the tractor episode when he returned to the store a few months later when the keychains were back in stock.

I recognize that Momma’s failing memory mimics how our closest friends and family don’t always see us for who we are. They see us as they wish to see us. My interest in gardening and Mother Earth News magazine were never hidden but only my brother-in-law really saw it along with the strangeness of other family members. He was certain that my sister, his wife, couldn’t possibly be related to us. They’ve been married 28 years and he still maintains she was left on the doorstep by gypsies. Surely. Imagine his shock and awe some five years from now when one of the strange family traits slips through the generations to land right in front of him in the face of my ever-so-proper sister. It’s inevitable, really, because as we age we become who we really are and the mask slips away.  Hee hee hee.

Quite frankly, Scarlett, I love the toy tractor on my keychain. It defines what I value and who I want to be but perhaps with a tractor less fearsome than the one on my keychain.

10 thoughts on “My Keychain Defines Me”

  1. That key chain does define you but I am so glad Poppie doesn’t let you operate the tractor. I could just see you riding around the neighborhood scaring the poor pig to death on that thing. Lady Di and I are cut from the same cloth. Neither one of us really does dirt or bugs. Remember when she threatened to put a lizard on me before I knew she was scared spitless of the things herself. She’s a funny girl that one.

    1. Evie – You haven’t seen Poppie’s tractor. It’s just a riding lawn mower. One of my neighbors down the street, let’s just call him “Homer,” has a real tractor. A shiny, delicious red tractor.

  2. Funny thing about those gypsies – they left me on the doorstep and now my daughter also claims to be left by gypsies. Those gypsies sure do get around. Oh and tell Evie that I am not afraid of lizards – just other bugs.
    Lady Di

    1. Lady Di – It’s about time for you to do some genealogical research on gypsies. Are you sure you aren’t afraid of lizards? Now, you and Evie could be sisters when it comes to bein’ terrified of bugs.

  3. I have written two posts about tractors. I LOVE them. I lost my dad a couple of weeks ago and a NS blogger friend offered to do some genealogy for me. I knew I came from long line of farmers, but I didn’t know that they stretched back to pre 1830 in Ontario Canada. At my fathers internment, the man who owned the blue tractor that pushed the dirt, ever so gently, over my dad, was a cousin I’ve never heard of, and the cemetery was a family cemetery from the 1800’s. How could I not know that. So step in blogger friend B and she is filling in all the blanks for me. Isn’t blogging just the BEST!!!

    1. Erin -Sure was bummed to hear about the recent loss of your father. A gal at today’s Bible study said that you can’t really imagine the loss of a parent until it happens to you. Hasn’t happened to me yet. Have you ever watched that PBS show about genealogies of celebrities? Sometimes they can trace someone’s history to the 1300’s because of church records.

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