This morning, my son telephoned me from the town where I was born. "Hi, Mom! Guess where I am!", his voice came over the line. At nine o'clock on a hot and humid Sunday, immersed in the mysteries of the Times Sunday crossword, I was in no mood for guessing games, but didn't say so. "Are you back home?", I responded. "No, Mom, guess again!".

He and a friend have been on a driving vacation for almost three weeks, setting out from their cabin in the Sierra foothills to drive to Illinois to see the country. So I felt inclined to humor him, since it is the first trip he has ever made to the midwest and points south, except for a business trip some years ago to Eau Claire, Wisconsin, in the dead of winter! I hardly think that counts.

"We're on the outskirts of El Paso!", he laughed, when I failed to come up with a second guess. "Now what was it you wanted me to take pictures of while we're here?"

I began to list things off in rapid-fire order: the Grecian columns of the public library, the Plaza theater, site of many happy Saturday afternoon matinees, the White House department store, the Popular Dry Goods Company, the alligator pond in the park near the library. I ran out of ideas at that point, and, mindful of his long-distance bill, I ended by saying, "Just take a picture of anything that looks old!".

After he rang off, I realized that I had forgotten to mention many, many places, and wished I could call him back to tell him about El Paso High School, McKelligan Canyon, Hotel Dieu Hospital, the Old Town Pump, the Ellanay Theater, Saint Patrick's Cathedral. I wished I could tell him to look up Dodo Kennedy, Betty Louise Neugebauer, Carey Joe Bradford, the Hawkins family, the Caufields. I wonder if the Maxwells and the Haningers still live there? I know the Crowleys and the Brennans moved away when I was still a pre-teen.

For an hour or so, I indulged myself with some pure and simple nostalgia, remembering little bits and pieces of the kaleidoscope of my life in El Paso. The concrete balustrade around the alligator pond in the park near the library...inside the moat were several enormous alligators, or maybe they were crocodiles; I don't remember the shape of their jaws, just the size of them. We used to stand leaning on the concrete wall, waiting for one of the huge "logs" to stir, then we would squeal and run in terror, especially if one of them started to move toward us!

Then there was the pet show put on at a carnival at Caldwell School the year that I was a fifth-grader there. I wanted to enter a pet, but didn't have one, so Virginia Hawkins father lent me a baby lamb from their farm (Hawkins Dairy) and I won first prize...I was so excited! The prize was a badminton set, net, rackets and shuttlecocks. The whole family played with that for years, and I can still see us laughing and shouting in the back yard.

Speaking of games, we were also big on Chinese Checkers and card games, but the high point of our gamester lives was the time Daddy came home from a business trip with a Monopoly set...it was the latest rage, and we spent hours destroying each other with hotels, houses, railroads and utilities! I still love the game.

Carey Joe Bradford was in my class at St. Patrick's school; I was looking at my eighth grade graduation picture not long ago, the whole class grouped together, the girls in their pastel dotted swiss dresses made by their mothers, the boys in white shirts and pants and dark jackets. Carey Joe is in the front row, as am I, in this picture. He gave me my first kiss one scorching summer afternoon, as we sat resting after a strenuous tennis game, drinking orange sodas...he just suddenly leaned over and kissed me on the cheek and then turned away, blushing furiously. I didn't know what to say or do, so I jumped up and said "C'mon, let's play one more set!". So much for puppy love...I didn't even recognize it when it came my way!

Some time later, my dancing class teacher announced that we were to put on a "social dance" on a Saturday afternoon, and we were to pair off in couples, inviting other friends if we wished. So I invited Carey Joe, and since his mother did not drive a car, my mother volunteered to pick Carey Joe up and drive us to the dance. I don't remember whose idea it was that he and I should sit in the back seat while Mother played chauffeur, but that's what we did. With a straight face, but suspiciously twitching lips, she gravely drove us to the dance and came to pick us up at the appointed time. I still remember going to the Old Town Pump afterwards for frosty, cold mugs of foamy root beer, served to us in our car by a pretty girl in a short skirt and cowboy boots. She lifted her eyebrows a bit at our seating arrangements, but cheerfully took our order.

Well, that's what a simple phone call can do to one's memory...remarkable! This very same morning brought two more calls. A young neighbor called to suggest that we get together tomorrow for one of our study discussion sessions, which, in reality, are just an excuse to drink tea and rake the world over the coals. Then another young neighbor called, asking if it was a convenient time for her to bring over some fresh-picked tomatoes and cucumbers from their garden. Such a question! Her husband grows cherry tomatoes that I eat like candy! My response was an enthusiastic "by all means"!

Such a mixed morning, with memories of old days and wonderful chats with new days...I feel very lucky today!