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Memories by Bev Jackson Cotter

I cannot downsize my memories. Downsize is such a popular word today and usually interpreted as getting rid of things. That’s not really what it means.

The word downsize was not a part of my vocabulary until recently, so I decided to look it up. It’s not even in my New College Edition of the American Heritage Dictionary, published in 1976. Google describes it as moving to a smaller home, and my 2023 Official Scrabble Players Dictionary states “to produce in a smaller size.” Who do I believe? I think I’ll ignore it.

Recently a friend was admiring a small sculpture I have in my dining room. It’s of a little girl carrying a basket of roses and holding an umbrella. It reminds me of the children under an umbrella that was once a fountain in Faville Park and now is a part of the collection at the Freeborn County Historical Museum. My friend said, “When you downsize, I’d like that statue.” I know I gave her a strange look, because that little girl belongs right where she is.

I’ve no idea how old my dining room furniture is. I bought the set at a neighbor’s auction and the dear lady, soon to be leaving her home, had tears in her eyes when we loaded the solid oak table and chairs and buffet on to the pickup. The Adirondack chair on my patio is older than I am. I have a picture of Mom and Dad sitting there with me on the arm of the chair. And books — I’m afraid I am addicted. I’ve loved reading ever since I listened to my mom and sisters sharing stories with me long before I could read on my own. Every book on my shelves contains a memory.

And the old tea kettle that is now a planter out on the deck? I picked it up from Grandma Mason’s junk pile. That tea kettle once bubbled from morning to night providing hot water when needed.

Her plumbing consisted of a cold water faucet in the kitchen.

How about the 10-gallon Red Wing crock that Mom made sauerkraut in, and the winners award I gave my Dad on Father’s Day many years ago? The plaque says “World’s Greatest Fisherman.” Who, of all the anglers in my family, will receive that little cup when I’m ready to pass it on? Most of my coffee mugs are souvenirs or gifts — Anchorage, Alaska, the north shore of Lake Superior, great-grandchildren’s art projects. How do I give them up?

I also have several pieces with logos from businesses that once were a part of the Albert Lea scene, a five-cent size A&W root beer mug, and another free child size one, an American Gas Machine Co. souvenir ash tray, a Michael’s grocery store plate and a blue Morlea Dairy crock.

In the grand scheme of life, I suppose these precious items are just things, and someday “downsize” will be part of their description, but in today’s world I wish I could instead “upsize” the love and traditions and sharing and respect that all of these items signify.

Like I said earlier, I cannot downsize my memories.

Bev Jackson Cotter is a lifelong resident of Albert Lea.