.A Well-tanned Memory

There is no real story here—just a well-tanned memory.

It starts with my my five-plus-decades-past Model Cities identification badge from Little Rock, Arkansas. I rediscovered an image of the badge when posting a link on Facebook to “Little Rock Story #1”. I noticed that the tan I had earned during the previous two years as a Peace Corps volunteer near the Pacific Coast of Guatemala still lingered on my face.

For reasons more, I hope, than narcissism, that tan memory caused me to search for an almost four-decades-past photo of me with my parents and siblings at my parents' fiftieth wedding anniversary, in St. Paul, February, 1985.

I could not find it in my archives, but my sister Judy (2^nd from left) and her husband Leaman found it in theirs. I had remembered correctly that, despite hints of resemblance, I looked out-of-place because of the Central American tan I brought to a place where everybody else was well into their annual acquisition of winter-white. I had flown up alone to the celebration from Costa Rica where the Colorado Komives family was in the midst of a 28-month residence brought on by my work in watershed management. I did get out into the field some during my work around Central America. However, the tan came mostly from weekend fun on an outdoor basketball court near our home in Turrialba. It was not until I was back in Costa Rica and photographs of the anniversary celebration began to show up that I saw how not-Minnesotan I had looked. I don't recall anyone mentioning the tan during my visit. Of course, Minnesotans can be close-lipped about personal things, but there is a more likely explanation of why nobody mentioned my exotic look. After all, they work and play outside in myriad ways through the extra-long days of their long-hot summers. The same can be said for guests from the several other states represented at the celebration. They had most likely arrived at September well-tanned and failed to notice a gradual tint change in their mirrors as deep summer moved inexorably into deep winter. 

Thus, again, there is no real story here—just my well-tanned memory.

 

 

(c) from date of posting, by Bob Komives, Fort Collins