Not counting my personal ones, I have fourteen Bibles (actually most of them are just half the Bible) that belonged to one, now gone, family member or another. I have at least one for three of my grandparents, three that were my mom’s and four that were my fathers if you count the Bible that the funeral home gave us. I also have my mom’s brother’s New Testament that I will send to my cousin. My favorite is my Grandpa Green’s Mason Bible.
I read that Bibles can be thrown away with no ceremony, but I am uncomfortable doing so. I will probably put them in a box in the kneewall again, providing nourishment for the silverfish.
Or, they could be a Christmas decoration next year.
Writing Prompt: Write about a mysterious or fantastical place in our memory. Like a visit somewhere as a child that, once you were an adult, seems far away and perhaps remembered slightly askew from reality. Or a structure or natural location that enchanted your imagination even as an adult.
I was positive I’d been on a beach at the ocean. I just assumed that it was that time we drove from Elgin to Virginia Beach, up through Washington, DC (through being the definitive word because apparently my dad would not stop), and onto New York city where I was sure our driver was Jack Paar.
When I clarified it with my mom she said that we never stopped at a beach on that trip. When I pushed her she thought that perhaps I was confusing it with our trip to Two Rivers when I was very young. Since I didn’t remember Two Rivers and since I absolutely knew the difference between a river and an ocean, I was sure she was mistaken and that she just could not remember that time we went to the ocean I continued to believe we went to the ocean.
Many years later I found some old photographs that proved we’d been to the ocean. Grandma Green and Aunt Ginny were there and they did not go to Virginia Beach with us, so that was a little confusing. My confusion was cleared when I showed the photographs to my mother and she told me that was the beach in Two Rivers and the water was Lake Michigan.
Many more years later I saw it for myself, probably the very beach where young Dona, Grandma Green, Mom and Aunt Ginny sunbathed.
I know there are photographs, or maybe videos of my mom and me at the beach. Maybe not this trip — I was not even 2 years old, so how could I remember this?