Sunday, September 13, 2009


A friend whom I have known since seventh grade recently told me that she has often thought about blogging but hadn't started because she thought that it required discipline. Maybe it does for some but not for me. Anymore. When I first started, I thought, "I must do x number of posts a week." Then came the day that I reminded myself that I was doing this all for me and not for others. As such, I only needed to write when I really wanted to.

When I wrote my last post, I gave myself permission to take the month of September off. Although I may be an extrovert, there are times when I need to go inward. It's part of the reason why I live alone. Upon awaking this morning, I realized that we were almost halfway through the month and I had already made it past two of the three hard days for this month. And so I told myself that even though I had told myself that I wouldn't post anything until October, it was OK to write something sooner.

I spent Labor Day with my cousins. It was the day after my aunt's birthday. And then I spent yesterday with my dad. My stepmother's birthday was earlier in the week.

I have read in places, perhaps some science fiction novel, that time is not a straight line but instead folds back upon itself. Kind of like when you fold over a tortilla to make a burrito. I hope I have explained this well enough because this is what it feels like.

Over the Labor Day weekend, I was once more with Dumb and Dumber. This time instead of watching endless DVDs though, I read. (OK. I did watch Big Brother. But that was about the only time the TV was on.) I managed to finish something like three books over the weekend. And so over the past week, I was ready to dive into Sag Harbor which I'll finish later this evening.

So I hung out with my dad and we talked. A lot. Mostly about the summers I spent in Georgia and Alabama during my childhood. My dad thought it was a couple of summers. I reached back into my memory and said that it was more like four to five summers. After I got home, I thought how little that seems at my current age. But that little bit? So much of the person I am today.

And so we talked and one minute I was fourteen. Then I was eight, thirty-five, twenty, twelve. And it all felt like yesterday. Probably because I carry with me little bits of my past selves with me today. While the memories of others in my family falter, mine never has -- well, except for that one day that I will probably never be able to recapture although it's for the best. It's like they are packed away in tissue in a box, waiting for the day to be revealed once more.

I returned to reading Sag Harbor when I returned home and suddenly I couldn't put it down. There are so many references to music of the 80s in the book. With each song or artist, there was the pause to remember the me of that time period.

It's been kind of fun revisiting the past. Much better than the present when I have to listen to my father explain to someone he hasn't seen in some time that his wife has died. Oh, and his two sisters as well. And hearing his voice catch as he says it. And seeing him fight back the tears that are forming in his eyes. And then looking at him and realizing how much he has aged.

I have no clue what the future holds but I know that it will be OK. Because my stepmother? My aunts? They had infinite faith in my ability to make things work out for myself. And so I carry that with me -- that one day it will be OK, it won't hurt as much. And that as long as I remember the stories, they will still be with me.

On a lighter note, food will be returning. Quite possibly tomorrow. Or whenever it is that I feel like putting words to the photos. Because there are no deadlines here.


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