Dipping into the memory vault again in Daydreaming on the Porch

“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