Memories are brought forth when you least expect them to surface. Monday evening was a beautiful autumn night. So I decided to leave the traffic behind for a while. I stood in awe as I looked at the evergreen trees covering the Cascade Mountains. It was sundrenched afternoon blue skies overhead and a slight breeze.
As I slowly walked the sidewalks of downtown Issaquah, I noticed an old Shell station, and the gas pumps fascinated me. The pumps were made by Tokheim in Fort Wayne, Indiana. (Yes, these pumps were made in my hometown.)
A flood of memories engulfed me. My dad work worked in the manufacturing area on night shift, which he called third trick. He was promoted to a foreman’s role, and then left after many years to buy his own business. My Grandma Ruby always said, “Your dad works at “Toetime.” I called it Toetime for a long time.
When my dad drove me by the factory as a young child, it was exciting yet scary at the same time. It appeared seedy as I looked at the building through the car window. It was not like living in the Edgewood Park neighborhood with Mr. Dryer’s cornfields and the smell of manure on a hot and humid Indiana summer day.
Issaquah’s Depot Park with old train cars; the Issaquah Brewery with the plaid man server; Stan’s Barbeque filled with red and white Kansa City Chiefs' jerseys and left me smelling smokey; the woman sitting on the walker in front of the Front street Market warmed my heart; the Bread of Life Church with its healing room; and the Chefchaouen, Morocco’s Sister City gift of a door to Issaquah welcomes you: “Once you enter through the doors, you are welcomed into our homes and lives and are among friends and family.”
I was among friends and family.
