a walk in time
February 25, 2017 § 5 Comments
This morning I walked our dog, her dark fur and my bulky attire cutting a strong contrast against the pristine snow in the blinding sunshine. The wind was mischievously inconsistent, the sun undermining the temperature of the air, and so I prematurely cast aside my scarf.
It was the kind of morning I intentionally plan for, the simplest excursion made predictably unbearable by the folly of my last-minute recklessness. I was simultaneously curled against the sun and braced against the wind, my eyes stung by the brilliance of light against snow and my neck too bare against tendrils of wind that wound deep inside my collar.
Lost to discomfort I almost missed the happy delight of neighborhood children playing quietly, their sounds muffled by my cap pulled low against my ears. They looked like crayons overturned haphazardly against the snow; mix-matched snowsuits and cheerful mittens a riot of color against the quiet. Without their sounds they might have been a memory of my children’s childhood displaced against the indiscernible backdrop of a timeless winter day.
The vastness of uninterrupted snow and the solitude of my footsteps against old memories I might have been invisible, the cumbersome bulk of my shape frivolously insignificant; a trick of light against snow.
in pictures
July 30, 2015 § 6 Comments
It is a curious thing to pack away memories and leave behind tangible pieces of our past. Yesterday I moved in circles around photographers, cleaning even as they navigated our rooms; remembering moments one cannot see in photographs, evidence lost in clean coats of paint and finished flooring.
Gone is the tiny black insect my daughter inked into a small dent in the hall stairway and the crooked lines of a secret safe sketched into the wall of her closet. No one is the wiser where little fingers dipped into the lacquer of a newly sealed plank of wood to drag an invisible smiley face against my husband’s wishes or where toddler toes tracked paint primer beneath finished floors.
Gone are the traces of crime scene chalk outlines covered by wooden floors and the indentation of a dismantled sandbox. The prideful markings of our children’s heights that once scaled our kitchen door frame, an evolution of handwriting in contrasting colors, has since been erased by a an overworked paintbrush and only our climbing tree knows it was my husband who, in his childhood, curled its branch into a handle that our children would one day grasp.
The images we see in glossy advertisements for home are an edited version of the truth; beneath the polished exterior of cleverly articulated interiors sleeps a life in pictures we cannot so easily photograph.
remember me
October 14, 2012 § Leave a comment
The convenience of social networking has created a web of nostalgia that stretches old memories into relationships. We become friends, anew. This curious affection born of the past and strewn so delicately amid the details of our days suggests that it is not another’s affirmation we seek, but pieces of ourselves.
This experience of gathering the old among the new has gifted me forgotten memories and misplaced friendships. In the time between passing notes in high school hallways and parenting school age children I wandered from the familiar territory of childhood friendships, loosing little landmarks of self. I have rediscovered these treasures in letters that travel over time.
Some friendships slipped naturally into the fabric of my days, others I visited, some remain relegated to the past. In each discovery I find little truths that resonate with a clarity that reverberates over the years.
Still there exists a beautiful distortion of self in this web of memories. I remember you a precursor to exaggerated flattery. Let’s remember one another as we were, allowing for adolescent awkwardness. When our paths cross I want to laugh at my own mistakes and celebrate the journey that has made me who I am. Like tiny scars from old lessons, I am comfortable with the past. The contrast of old dreams and growing pains makes the present more beautiful for the truth of the journey.
growing up & standing still
June 21, 2012 § Leave a comment
My high school reunion is around the corner, I am navigating old memories and new doubts. Twenty years later it seems as though time stood still, slumbering insecurities have stirred new insights into pieces of my past.
Returning psychologically to a place in time littered with painful memories has highlighted old wounds. The young girl that hid from sadness behind individual endeavors, love stories, and moments of rebellion is cautious to revisit the past. The woman I have become feels compelled to face these truths with the same open mind and strength I ask my children to exercise in moments of uncertainty.
I keep returning to the uncomfortable emotions looking for direction. An emptiness and detachment from my peers’ shared experiences conflicts with deeply entangled emotions to individuals, relationships fragmented but infinitely imbedded in my life story. In contrast to my children’s experiences, I did not grow up in one neighborhood. Watching my children create friendships and gather memories I have become acutely aware of the pricelessness of old friends and the richness of shared history.
Looking ahead to the coming year and the opportunity to revisit a piece of my past I am trying to welcome doubts alongside nostalgia, permitting myself a place for growth; lending myself forgiveness and love for old mistakes and missed opportunities while standing firmly and gratefully in the present.
brick by brick
April 9, 2012 § 1 Comment
This weekend we began packing away the chaotic contents of our family LEGO room, noisy handfuls of bricks tumbled into large storage containers. As primary colored creations were contained from clutter into controlled chaos, memories filled the corners of my heart with gratitude for years of creativity and sharing.
Our children were the fortunate recipient of their father’s old LEGOs and my husband happily embraced a second childhood as both children discovered the joy of creating; the physical manifestation of a moment of inspiration. Lifting the weight of each bin, I wondered if I could measure their time together with these tiny building toys, one moment piled on top of another brick by brick.
Our toy room was a kaleidoscope of colorful shapes; kits and creations piled haphazardly and intentionally on flat surfaces and scattered across the floor. Packing away the remnants of this piece of our life was my children’s choice and I welcomed their decision to make room for a new experience. Still as we tucked away these well-loved toys for another generation I found myself pausing over various pieces, marveling at my children’s creations, and collecting memories for safekeeping brick by brick.
calendar days
January 22, 2012 § Leave a comment
January sweeps away the old year with a gust of cool air. Snow flurries cover the ground and the world feels new, a year of calendar days unmarked like untouched snow. I have turned my attention to our home peeking inside drawers and behind cabinet doors, looking for ways to sweep away clutter making room for days to come.
Hidden beneath my children’s carefully printed stories and classroom artwork were a decade’s worth of old calendars piled together haphazardly. The years were out-of-order, some marked in datebooks and others stretched between folded wall calendars. Empty days and holidays, milestones and monotonous moments touching. Carefully printed plans, generously embellished celebrations, hurriedly scribbled notes and coded reminders. Different shades of ink blurring into abstract impressions over time.
I gathered my first moments as a wife and mother and began saving old dates for my children. Sentiment was my companion as I revisited the past. I could neither save the calendars nor list every moment. The practical side of me wanted to let go of old paper; nostalgia tugged at my heartstrings and I attempted to draw my past into notes to keep them present.
I am simplifying and organizing days that unfolded mindless of order, finding distractions in moments forgotten. Recycling faded paper to make room for new mementos, saving pieces of the past for the future. Holding tight and letting go.
remembrance
September 1, 2011 § 2 Comments
Each of us have personal holidays, dates that seem to resonate within us. These days are typically mapped on our hearts, unmarked on calendars. Each year, on this day, I indulge in a moment of remembrance for the man I called my Bumpa. A silly name for a strong, quiet man who lived with grace, generosity, and wisdom. If I close my eyes, I see him walking tall ahead of me as I shadowed him through his day waiting for an opportunity to sit together in silence underneath a tree, an easy company in the absence of words. Humble and humorous, I miss his smile today.
memory mosaic
July 25, 2011 § Leave a comment
What if we traded predesigned cards for letters, looked past unnecessary collectables and gathered memories in print or photographs to honor birthdays and special occasions? A year or two ago a friend celebrated her husband’s birthday in letters; blank stationery accompanied each invitation for guests to share a memory or story. A mosaic of eclectic moments from a life held together by friendship and love. Enamored by the sentimental gift of memories, I immediately longed for the pages of letters that have littered my past.
As a little girl I would connect pieces of my life from one parent’s house to another in letters. I would write friends from what felt like the other side of the world. Letters seemed to transport friends from school years past into the present tense, filling unfamiliar moments with comfort. I miss the bold careful print in brightly colored crayons and awkward loops of early script punctuated with scribbles.
In love, I created stories in letters. I would focus on the good and let pages of daydreams mark the space of young love. Too young to date, I tied my notes in heartstrings and tucked them into a young boy’s letterman jacket to keep myself in his thoughts. I wonder how close my dreams of love would reflect the life I have created.
Even now, faces from another time come to me in unexpected memories and I send a note sharing the sentiment. Tiny trinkets of gratitude, inspiration, or humor for moments from lives intersecting. I often wonder how these words are received, but mostly I find joy in the act of sharing the timeless gift of remembering.
scribblechic 