A Whole New World
Football, memories, and moving forward
Last week, my husband Bob and I watched the opening Iowa State football game at my brother’s house. We do this periodically—we get together for ESPN+, a bigger screen TV, snacks and a chance to catch up between plays. Then, when the game is over, we play cards until we fall asleep or we’ve won enough games to make a respectable exit.
On these occasions, watching ISU sports, I always lament the fact that I don’t have an Iowa State shirt to wear. But then the idea falls to the bottom of the priority list, and I forget about it until the next time we’re headed to my brother’s for football and cards.
Last week, it was the same thing: Why didn’t I have a Cyclone shirt to wear?
And then I remembered: I DO!
I went digging through old boxes in our cedar closet in the basement, and there it was: An Iowa State t-shirt circa 1975, when I was a sophomore at ISU. I’m not sure how I forgot it for so long or what prompted me to finally remember, but no matter.
I had just enough time to throw it in the washer and knock 47 years of dust off of it before we headed out for the game. But one mystery: What did the number 81 stand for?
Bob took a picture so I could send it to my friend Jan, who I think will have the answer to that question. Jan, one of my best friends stretching back to our days in pinafores and anklets at Byron Rice Elementary in Des Moines, was my partner in crime in high school and Iowa State.
When I say “crime,” you have to realize I’m using that word VERY lightly. The worst crime I committed in college was to put marshmallows on car antennas in our dorm parking lot one night.
But back to the number 81. I’d traveled to Lake of the Ozarks with Jan and her family before attending Iowa State. We went there to water ski, which I barely endured, given that I couldn’t swim. My life vest made drowning unlikely, but getting hit by a passing boat when I went down hard in the water and my skis flew off in two different directions seemed like a distinct possibility.
We did get great tans, though. And in the evenings, Jan and I got dressed up in culottes and peasant blouses and played miniature golf at the local course.
There, we discovered two things: We were formidable at miniature golf. And the two young guys running the place were worthy of serious flirting.
If only we knew how.
I’m not sure which of us was more tongue-tied around members of the opposite sex, but suffice it to say that we did more talking ABOUT these two young men than we did talking TO them.
One of them had red hair, so we of course referred to him as Red because we were too shy to ask his name.
And I think…..maybe I’m making this up after a few decades…but I THINK he wore a t-shirt with the number 81 on it.
Jan will remember.
In the meantime, this is my story, and I’m sticking to it:
I had a special ISU t-shirt made with the number 81 in honor of a boy I never really talked to, and whose name I never learned.
Whether it’s true or not, it’s a good memory, and I’m happy it surfaced in the swirling eddies of memories from my almost 66 years of life.
I’m guessing a lot of memories will surface as I write these Substack columns—memories of the seemingly insignificant moments like mysterious numbers on old t-shirts, along with life-shaping events like divorce and remarriage and life on an acreage in Madison County, Iowa.
Maybe I’ll even recall the time I opened an email to find out the Dalai Lama wrote a foreword to one of my books. That’s a memory worth replaying over and over again.
I’m writing this column thanks to my inimitable friend Julie Gammack, who has nudged (and sometimes dragged!) me to some of the most memorable moments in my life. And as the name of the column suggests, this is a whole new world for me.
I’m thrilled to teach and mentor people about writing and spirituality every single day, but lately I haven’t had time to do as much writing of my own as I like—especially this kind of writing, recording the ins and outs of daily life.
So that’s what this column is for. Remembering, reminding, re-envisioning. Even with all the divisiveness and worry on the planet about how things have been, we can create a new world for ourselves every single day.
That’s why I’m going to put the memory of Jan and Red and 81 in my pocket and carry it with me—a reminder of who I was as I look forward to where I’m going.
Hope you’ll come along with me. As we gather up some past memories and future dreams, we can create a new world together.
Maybe you’ll rediscover something good from the past today. If so, I’d love to hear about it in the comments below.
Debra Landwehr Engle is the bestselling author of The Only Little Prayer You Need, Let Your Spirit Guides Speak, Be the Light that You Are and her debut novel Twenty. She’s also a long-time student and teacher of a spiritual program called A Course in Miracles, and her online study groups feature lively and wisdom-centered conversations about applying Course principles to everyday life. With a long career in book and magazine publishing, she now serves as the managing director of the international Story Summit Writer’s School, encouraging emerging voices—especially those of women—in publishing and screenwriting. She teaches classes and small groups in writing and mentors first-time authors as they write and publish their books.
She and her husband Bob live in Madison County, Iowa, home of the famed covered bridges. For more about Deb, visit debraengle.com.