Or . . . what is becoming of my life that began 64 years ago?
There are probably a million little things I should be doing right now, but I opened that proverbial can of worms, and it's all over the floor in my "computer room". I have a neat old trunk that my mom had re-done for me many years ago. Over those years I would place things in it, forgetting about them . . . unique little boxes, newspapers, birthday cards, even a Marine Corps K-BAR knife! I knew my scrimshaw tools were in it somewhere, and needed to find them. Well, today was the day. Why oh why today? On my current introspective journey, the thought keeps popping up that I've always had a deep connection to writing, but I'd forgotten just how deep.
Amongst all of the other things was a box of papers, stuff that I'd written long, long ago. Have you ever looked at something you did years ago and found yourself saying, "Wow. I did this?" It's not that it's better or worse than what I write now. The style is actually very similar, but I see these writings through the eyes a stranger. So many dreams, so much desire and ambition, most of which were realized, but long forgotten. Why do we forget what got us to where we are? As I read them I see that I was a monumental risk-taker, one who didn't ask 'why', but instead asked 'why not'. That's a sad thing to lose. I don't know that I have, I think its just shifted more to a 'weigh the pros and cons first' attitude, kind of like having no fear on a skateboard when you're young, but being afraid of breaking bones when you're older.
I have to interject here that all of this is weighing very heavy on my heart right now. It goes back to one of my favorite laments of looking in a mirror and asking what happened to that little girl. She was like an untamed wind, a romantic, intuitive, independent to a fault. Yes, a risk-taker. Don't ever double dare her. In my book that was merely an invitation to another adventure. (What I found to be really interesting was in my "baby book" where my mom wrote that I was shy and serious!) Most of these thoughts were written from my early 20's through my 30's, so I was not actually a "little girl", but my mindset has always remained young, one thing that I pray will never change.
Some of the things in "the box" were written to me from Ben. I wish I'd read them more often during our 30 years together. It would have helped me to better remember what "got us to where we were." I did get a kick out of one thing that he wrote: "I know of your ability to pick things apart, and your unique ability to question and reason." And this: "There is no one I would rather spend my life with", among many other totally loving and very Ben-like missives. What I wouldn't give to have him back, but yes, I know . . . what's done is done. Let it go. It's at this point that I could get into a "woe is me" attitude, but that girl of long ago won't allow it. Ben also once wrote that, if he had to choose a partner for me, "it would be someone who would appreciate and cherish your love as I have" . . . that "someone" lives inside me. It is me. If I let that go, what a desolate thing life would be.
So, if what comes out of this "can of worms" all over my floor, is a reaffirmation of forging ahead and respecting who you were, and have become, then so be it. I feel that, after reading the things that Ben wrote, he would be happy and proud of the way I "keep on keepin' on". I just wish he were here to experience it with me. I miss his guidance, his kindness, his honesty. I don't think those thoughts will ever fade. At least I hope not. So, as I head toward that inevitable end, I vow to make a more concerted effort to blend more of that into myself.
"crisp, clear days
the obscure sound of crickets
little, tiny toads
the browning of garden growth
subtle changes in leaf color
steam rising from the water
quiet on the weekend
fireplaces being put to use
not having to mow the lawn as often
thinking more about wool
fish biting a little more readily
appreciating a warm day and cool nights
thinking with dread about crippling snowstorms . . .
bitter cold
fewer cars on the road and boats on the lake
wild fowl having the gall to land in the middle of the
lake
dew on the ground and on the windshield in the
morning
moonbeams dancing on the surface of the lake
being able to see the bottom
the rocks, the weeds
and an occasional fish
the sadness of having to remove the dock
making us seem land-locked
a thick carpet of leaves rather than grass
eating more fattening foods
more out of habit than anything else
a pile of wood in the garage
moving the motorcycles out to make more room for
getting around the garage
in "fat" parkas
putting the outdoor furniture away 'til next time
turning the garden earth over
hanging the bicycles from the ceiling
winterizing the transportation
drinking Cafe Vienna rather than iced tea
going to work and coming home in the dark
the downside of standard time
muskrats swimming bravely by
boarded up cottages
snowmobiles being readied
a lost, empty feeling as autumn turns to winter
setting well-meaning goals to offset
"winter doldrums"
1 comment:
those are familiar feelings about change of season at the lake. Looks like it will come early this year.
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