Decades ago at the Sunbelt Expo someone was handing out coin-sized mementos that were similar to lunchroom tokens. It took a moment to digest the clever imprint – TUIT.    

Today I am sorely in need of a round TUIT. My to-do list always gravitates toward the hinterlands. It’s like the forgotten folder I found under my desk marked URGENT. 

Thankfully, most items aren’t actually urgent. A window sill needs work and a hole needs dirt. The bucket in the attic was put there before we got a new roof and is unnecessary, I hope. Tasks occasionally get completed. Others are resolved by time, not always optimally. Many, however, are perpetual.

My tendency to put things off came to mind following a September visit to an assisted living facility. I’ve known two of the ladies living there since early childhood, but rarely see them. My to-do list includes checking on friends, kin, classmates, and shut ins, but good intentions don’t really count. 

Mary Joyce Dunaway called and invited me to come play the piano for the residents. When I said okay, she didn’t delay. “How about two o’clock tomorrow?”

I contacted my longtime buddy, Don Giles. His wife Ramona has a lovely voice and agreed to lead the group in singing hymns. She picked out some beloved standards, mostly from the green Broadman Hymnal of 1940. The singing was followed by lighthearted reminiscing.

Based on assurances she would be leaving when I did, my mother went with me. Mama and Mary Joyce married first cousins and lived a few miles apart. Our families worshiped together at Harmony Baptist Church. Seasoned memories abound, such as their views on making tea.

Mama’s tea is mildly sweetened. Mary Joyce, on the other hand, is generous with sugar. When ladies of their generation would bring pitchers of tea to church dinners, Mary Joyce would say, “Pour Margaret’s in with the unsweet.” She maintains Mama’s tea is not fit to drink. Mama refers to Mary Joyce’s tea as glucose. 

After the hymns were sung, Mary Joyce asked me to tell the group about Larry, her oldest child, falling asleep during a sermon. I recounted how David, his younger brother, opened a hymnal to “Just As I Am” then handed it to Larry with an urgent whisper. “Get up! We’re singing the invitation.”   

The three of us were sitting near the back. Larry popped up from the pew, then realized he was the only one standing. He gave David a look that clearly said, “Wait until we get home.”

Sharing that story reminded me of a Sunday afternoon the three of us were playing cowboys with cap pistols. Little rolls of gunpowder made popping sounds when the triggers were pulled, adding authenticity to unscripted play.  

David was Billy the Kid and I was Jesse James. Larry was Sheriff Wyatt Earp. Jesse got shot in the heart and tumbled to the ground. The Kid, however, was a tough hombre. He rolled in the dirt while dodging bullets, then jumped up and scampered out of range. 

Wyatt Earp wasn’t happy. He wanted me to settle their dispute by verifying Billy had been riddled with bullets. I didn’t want to rile the high sheriff, but even outlaws have a code of conduct. Thankfully, it suddenly came to me that dead men can’t talk.

Miss Susie Giles and I also enjoyed revisiting some long-ago moments. When I was in the third grade, I gave her husband, Mr. Frank, some citrons under the pretense they were watermelons. I didn’t know their children at the time. It never crossed my mind that three boys would be sorely disappointed when the citrons were cut open.

Mr. Frank instigated our next laugh. He offered to show me a mongoose, provided I could keep it a secret. He said mongooses are so vicious they are illegal in America. That’s why he kept the mysterious critter in a small cage out of sight. When he slyly released a spring-loaded door, a furry tail slapped me in the face. The mongoose prank was eventually retired after a man’s heartbeat jumped out of rhythm. 

Visiting with those ladies reminded me it’s a blessing to have friends who share common memories. Hopefully I’ll do better about keeping in touch with such folks, plus taking care of other neglected items on my to-do list. If, however, that doesn’t work out, there’s one thing for certain. I’ll just do it when I get a round TUIT.