One of the many wonderful things about being my age and in good health is the memories. Last week, when we got the torrential rains and all the news was of road washouts and wet basements, it made me think of a time, a few years back, when the Falmouth Road was covered with so much water it looked like a pond. The local historical society has many photographs of this event, including pictures of culverts that got bent by Mother Nature and had to be replaced. A program could be done about the catastrophes of weather.

But there are other major events that we remember – if we’re old enough. Young people sometimes think we exaggerate, but if they went through the same thing, I can just imagine the texting and pictures that would result – if those gadgets even worked.

When I was a kid, we had a couple of hurricanes that uprooted not just huge trees, but also the way of life for many of us. Memories of the snowstorm in February 1952 made interesting reading earlier this year when that blizzard (or nor’easter) was the topic of news articles.

On Nov. 9, 1965, work had ended for me at the office where I was employed on 34th Street in Manhattan. It was right across the street from the Empire State Building, and while not as tall, my office building still had dozens of stories. After an elevator ride to the lobby, I went a few steps to the subway that would take me to my Brooklyn apartment. While I stood waiting for my train, I was reading the last few pages of a book I just had to finish. Before the train arrived, at about 5:30, the lights went out. It took the waiting crowd a few minutes to realize that no electricity meant no subway train.

The mad rush to get up the stairs to the street level was like something out of a horror show. Shoving, pinching and hitting was common and we finally got up to the sidewalk. It was not pitch dark yet, and there was a bright, full moon – but there were no traffic lights, nothing to guide a person across the street. Great iron grids had been slammed down over store windows and doors all along the street.

I stopped at the first hotel I came to and got a room, because by this time we’d heard that the lights were out all over the city. People were hanging onto the sides (hands gripping windows) of buses, and taxicabs were nearly crashing into each other.

I escaped into the hotel room – of course, no television, no radio – but I got in line at a phone booth only to realizem no phones, either. What to do? I went to my room, wondering if the world was at an end. Foolishly, I turned on the TV and then forgot to turn it off. Before it got totally dark, I found a book of matches in my purse and made a little candle from a jar of facial cream I also had stashed in my purse. I finished the last two pages of my book using this makeshift light and fell asleep.

Sometime around midnight, the TV woke me up. “Here’s Johnny!” – it never sounded so welcome. I was 28 years old on that November day and had no idea of all the memories that waited to be created.

When I got to the office the next day, I learned one of the owners only got halfway down the building before the elevator gave out. Fortunately, it was on the floor where his barber had a shop and so he spent the night sleeping in the barber chair.

So, take a few minutes some day, before arthritis overtakes your hands, and write down your memories.

Kay Soldier welcomes reader ideas for column topics of interest to seniors. She can be reached by email at kso48@aol.com, or write to 114 Tandberg Trail, Windham, ME 04062.