When I (finally) decide to write, the last thing that gets filled in is the title. I never know where this effort is going to take me. It is a long rambling thing.
Less than two weeks ago I went to the Pearl Jam concert. I solicited wardrobe help from someone younger & male in the knowledge of how to dress for this occasion. He was very correct in his advice. It was not really my cup of tea but I had to go. My companions were giddy. It was so much fun listening to them talk about things like they were experiencing their birthday's for the first time. All guards were down and we were bonding. It was a special night and I was very glad to be a part of it.
I met some newish people in the last few weeks and it is really funny "meeting" people you grew up with. You can base some of your familiarity of their old being off of when you knew them before but then you realize you have no idea who this person really is unless you spent time with them. I was shocked one day to see a guy I went to school with (for 7 years) on the local news for murder. He had killed his ex-girlfriend. He was an all-star athlete and a close friend had dated him in high school. He was the last person I expected to see in that spot. You just never know about people.
I watched old friends talking and laughing the other night. We were there to celebrate an old classmate's 50th birthday. When my old friend Vickie laughed and said something, for a split second she sounded just like junior high-Vickie. She knew it too because she shot me a glance from across the room and we raised our glasses to each other. We survived so much between growing up/guys/life. She introduced me to my first real boyfriend. My first best guy friend. It seems silly. Over the years, I thought I had lost him at one point but thanks to Facebook, I hunted him down and owed him a much overdue apology. If there was ever a person who spooled me rotten, it was him. And he knows this. Week before last I was digging in an old steamer trunk we have old stuff stored in and ran across old pictures of he & I. These pictures have not seen the light of day in over 25 years. It was comical when I was telling VIckie that one had a letter written to her on the back of it. She told me "I have all your postcards and letters you sent me. I let Sonny read them the other night." I wanted to crawl under the table. I have no idea what I wrote. I have no idea where they were mailed from. I just know I wrote from the heart. I loved to write. I still do. I was jokingly called the "Hallmark Poster Child" because I used to use one of the first card-writing programs because I wanted to design my own cards and stationery. I could never find what I wanted and I think that handwriting things is a connection to the past. I still have most of the cards & notes that people have given me over the years. I am a memory hoarder.
When I was in school and I took an interest in a fella, one of the biggest pet peeves of mine was if he could not write or spell correctly-we had nothing in common. Grammar wasn't a big deal to me but if I could not decipher their notes, it was a deal-breaker. Luckily VW could write. He could actually spell and he was smart. I was a major note-passer. I think that is when I fell in love with writing & drawing.
It is an art form that will be locked away in a museum one day.
Putting pen to paper and letting thoughts flow gives you a glimpse into someone's soul. I have ran my fingers over the ink-stained pages of journals. It is a comfort to me. It is a calming. Texting and chatting are fine. They are a link of communication. I love photographs and all that ties them together. It is like a moment in time frozen and tangible. A slice of a memory that makes it mine. Something we shared that my soul needs. I think we are cheating ourselves with electronic memories. I want a paper picture to hold to my heart when I need to feel closer and when I need to reflect. The fragility of the paper is just as fragile as the electronic picture but the latter has a greater chance to be lost. At least if I misplace a picture, I have a hope of re-finding it. If my computer crashes, I am just out of luck.
And then my memory will have to re-live it. And if I cannot recall a 4-digit combination, what hope is there of that actually happening?
And yes, I deleted the picture *someone* requested that I delete this past week. With great reluctance. It is but a memory now. I think *someone* promised me a new picture in lieu of me deleting that one. So…..I am waiting for a new memory.
