Dipping into the memory vault again in Daydreaming on the Porch
- June 6, 2015, 4:16 a.m.
- |
- Public
“And over the course of a lifetime, we forage, root and rummage around in our stuff, because that is part of what it means to be human. We treasure…“
Dominique Browning
New York Times, May 29, 2015
I was rummaging through a plastic file box of memorabilia the other day, the treasure trove of photos, letters, papers, notecards from dear friends, and countless other rather obscure objects from my past that I keep as a “must save” box on the floor of my study along with two other such boxes. I labeled this particular box “Save/Top Priority.” A third such container sits atop some storage boxes with books in the long hallway upstairs at home, and it contains some of my most precious and personally significant and valuable papers, back to high school and grade school – 50 plus years ago. I leave it open, and often when I go down the hall, I stop and pull a file and randomly glance at items inside. That I have managed to hold on to these artifacts from my past is astonishing when I think about it, but knowing myself as I do, it’s not at all surprising. This is not clutter at all. These are physical objects that give me access to the person I once was and am now as nothing else can ever do, now or in the future. They along with my collected and photo-copied journal writings and photography, are my legacy to the world, to whomever might want to know more about me.
From one of those file boxes, I pulled a small manilla envelope. I’m not sure why I put the items contained in it there, but in looking at them I begin to see the pattern and the meaning behind the seeming randomness. In that envelope were these artifacts:
1) a homemade note card done in beautiful colors from the eldest daughter of dear friends who I met and have known since 1974 when we started out in journalism in Columbia, SC. In big, bold letters on the front of the card, M— , who was probably 9 or 10 at the time, wrote, “I MISS YOU!” Inside the card, these words: I miss you a lot. I wish you could come see us. I love you a lot. Today I got my report card. I got A’s, B’s and C’s on my report card We are having a lovely fall.” Not having children of my own, that card meant so much to me. I certainly can see why I haven’t thrown it away.
The children called me “uncle” back then because I was so close to their parents. In fact, the note was addressed as “Dear Uncle John.” That seems like a very distant memory now. But the long years that have passed since we spent many a late night deep in conversation have not always been kind to the friendship. Sometimes years would go by without any contact. We have a complicated relationship and went through some very difficult times together. I feel they knew me better than anyone at one time, but today I can say we are so different and have such profoundly opposing views about life, politics, and religion, that I wonder how the friendship even survives. One big reason is we never talk about any of that.
I wrote (emailed) them several months ago but have received no reply yet, and I may not hear from them again for long months or even years. This hurts, but would not surprise me. It’s the way things have always been since the days when they were my “best friends.” During the past few years since my caregiving role for my mother has deepened, we seem to be doing a better job keeping in touch, but there’s still this feeling of emptiness and loss when I think about them. I have not seen or heard from M— in probably 25 or more years. I have seen their other children, but unfortunately am not close to any of them anymore. Also in that envelope is a picture of M—, two of her sisters, and her father, taken around 1985.
2) A picture of the inside of the house of another old and very dear friend I have known since 1979 when we were co-workers in Columbia. After we left that job and for some years afterward I used to visit F— and her parents way out in the country in Saluda County, South Carolina, enjoying delicious meals she would prepare (Southern fried chicken and homemade biscuits and vegetables) and then taking backroads drives. The picture is of a Christmas tree in their den. It brings back vivid memories of a time when I had friends outside work that I would actually visit and spend time with. F— spent many years taking care of her elderly mother, and after her mother passed away she got married to a special friend who I am guessing helped her much in those last difficult years. We still keep in touch with Christmas cards and notes each December.
3) A picture of my first ever real and true friend, E—, whom I also met in Columbia in 1974, and who helped me get a job where he worked while I was taking courses at the University of South Carolina. I never had any close friends in high school or even earlier, so this was a revelation and a joy for the introverted and shy person I was then, but who seemed to come alive to life and all it’s possibilities in those heady years of the early and late 70s after leaving New Orleans for good and moving to South Carolina in 1973. I have not heard from E— since the early 1980s but soon am planning to try to find out where he and his wife live through mutual friends I want to get in touch with again after more than 20 years. I keep procrastinating on this, however, but think i might make the phone call soon. I feel sure they have no idea where I am now or what I am doing.
4) Finally, another picture from Columbia, taken in 1983 when I had a brief career as an English and history teacher. It’s in a skating rink the students loved to go to on organized visits. They have managed to get me to try on a pair of skates and are attempting to get me out on the rink, all to no avail as they prop me up in the photo and push me toward the rink. I look like I am very close to taking a tumble onto the floor. Many memories packed into that photo.
5) The one and only formal family portrait of me and my brother ad sister with my parents at home in New Orleans in 1969 when I was a senior in high school. I look like another person there, and of course, we were all so very much younger then. My parents looked so youthful in their 40s. My brother, father and I were wearing sports coats and ties. It was quite the formal occasion. It also is one of the few pictures I have of my father with whom I had a stormy and difficult relationship throughout the years of my life when he was alive. He died of cancer in 1992. He was 70 at the time, and I still struggle to come to terms with my relationship with him these many years later. Time has mellowed the memories and feelings somewhat, but I may never know all the answers to why he treated me the way he did and what I was like, or did, to make he react to me the way he did. There was a lot of anger basically because I didn’t turn out to be the type of son he apparently wanted. I really am not sure why this picture is in that envelope other than to contrast my life then with what i experienced in Columbia just a few short years later.
6) This is the mystery item. A set of color negatives of what I think are ocean and sunset scenes from Folly Beach where we spent many summer vacations over the years as a family. I have always been a photographer in my free time and at several of the jobs I have had in the past, so I guess this shouldn’t be too much of a surprise why it’s included here. But it’s the most random item in this small collection of memorabilia.
So there it is. An envelope from the past whose contents I have just written about and which now make them all come alive once more. Or rather, I should say, the people in them. What will be the next chapter? Will I reconnect with the friends I haven’t seen in 20 or 30 years? I’m 64 now and thinking a lot about retirement. I tend to dwell on the past too much. But I can’t ever forget, or not do this as long as I have my faculties. I have seen what dementia has done to my mother’s memory. Memories are in the very fabric of my being and they are what in large measure constitute my deepest self, my essence and what I know of it. It’s how I know who I am now, in this present moment.
Last updated June 11, 2015
=bernard= ⋅ June 06, 2015
I also fall into the category of the son that wasn't wanted. The relationship between myself and my Father was adversarial at best; because of my Father's very quick temper, I tread a very fine line with him. I always had the impression growing up that if he could have gotten away with getting rid of me somehow, he would have. I did not nor was I interested in the things that I suppose boys should be interested in. I wasn't close with either of my parents.
~Katherine ⋅ June 06, 2015
I loved reading this. I have lots of memories I wish were well organized and easily accessible as yours are. I never know what I'm going to find when I start going through boxes thinking I will do some serious de-cluttering. I end up sitting on the floor reading old cards and letters and remembering.....while the clutter remains for another day. Sometimes I carry a box out on the front porch so I can hear the birds sing while I search through my past.
I do hope you can reconnect with some of your old friends. It would be especially nice to have them as support during this time with your mother.
I would love to see the old family photo. I don't have a lot of old pictures but the ones where I am in a group of friends always seems like a stranger to me. I can't remember what I was feeling or thinking. I wonder if others feel that way. I didn't keep a journal but I did write a lot of long letters. How I wish I had copies!
Reading this has made me think I'll grab an old box and take it outside right now! Wishing you luck in finding old friends.
Oswego ~Katherine ⋅ June 08, 2015
I can spend hours going through my file boxes. The thing is, I rarely have the time to and it is time-consuming to do it properly. LOL. De-cluttering continues to elude me. I think it will happen only when it must, when push comes to shoves as when I had to move in to my mother's place fives years ago to take care of her. It took me a year to get everything moved or thrown out at my old apartment. I gave away almost all my furniture and about 25 boxes of books altogether.
I do hope to re-connect with those friends, maybe this summer. But I am an expert procrastinator.
Marg ~Katherine ⋅ October 24, 2015
Just wanted to comment on your wish of keeping copies of old letters - I feel the same way! Especially as I've kept copies of letters I received from family and friends over the years and it's sometimes really frustrating not having the 'other side of the story' so to speak!
Although I was lucky - in later years when I worked as a Secretary I used the office photocopier when I could to copy letters I wrote - or sometimes I would print out a copy when I got to the stage when I was using a word processor at home - so at least some have survived :)
gypsy spirit ⋅ June 07, 2015
such a treasure trove of memories and precious days....I am so glad you maintain that box and all inside...that you regularly take a momento and refill your heart soul with such warmth. I have to wonder if the lack of communication these days from M's family is due to something that happened their end, a tragedy or life-changing decisions, it might not be that they hold bad feelings about your friendship at all. the hard part is never knowing, isn't it? So glad you shared these parts of your life with us, and I am also glad you have written again as wondered the other day how things are with you. Good to know your mother & self are going through an easier patch. take care, hugs p
Oswego gypsy spirit ⋅ June 08, 2015
Dear friend, your notes are always so thought-provoking. I have often wondered about M--- but I am afraid I am a very distant memory for her now. I'm sure she remembers me, but the memories are probably very hazy.
Thank you so much for thinking of me. :-)
Newzlady ⋅ June 08, 2015
Eriu ⋅ June 08, 2015
I had a folder from my journalism class in high school that contained doodles on the graph paper. Seeing those, I remembered the story behind them and laughed and always kept it. I hope it wasn't lost to the fire. My journals keep the Coyote's voice alive.
As for your friends, have you tried looking them up on Facebook? Old friends connect there, so it shouldn't be awkward to reconnect.
ODSago ⋅ June 12, 2015
I love reading the responses to your entry--I join them in feeling a common thread in my life re: the past. I read that article in the NYT with so much pleasure -- a favorite author of mine. I am thinning out my "precious stuff," though...still plenty life to enjoy as I dip into boxes in another house's hallway someday.
Marg ⋅ October 24, 2015
One of my main projects in the coming months is organising a massive pile of old photos of my mum and dad's because I realised, going through them recently, I'm probably the only one left alive who knows most of the people in them! Although my siblings are all still alive, they are older than me and know more about my Dad's side of the family and a lot of these photos contain my Mum's family whom I was closer to.
I don't know if it was a habit of the times but very few have anything written on the back which is frustrating (although some are so tiny in size you would be hard pushed to GET anything written on the back!) and I can see them staying in the folders they're in, being passed down generations until no-one knows who half of them are and they get thrown out!