|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Monday May 28, 2001
"Every man's memory is his private literature." Aldous Huxley
friends
thirty-five years can change a person |
|
a holiday for remembering We are supposed to be remembering everyone who died in the nation's service today. As it happens, I was actually experiencing shots of other memories for various reasons. I made a birthday card for my niece, who is soon to have her thirty-first birthday. I decided to decorate the card with pics of her which necessitated going through piles of photos, unsorted and scattered in boxes and archival pages. In the process, I pondered some pictures of a sandy beach by a lake, taken some time in the sixties, maybe 1964 or so. Certainly before I got out of high school. When my dad was younger than I am now. My dad and mom (who didn't make the pictures...was she along?) had taken me and two friends to the lake. For a swim and a picnic. My dad looks so young. This particular set of pictures stands for many trips to the lake, largely unrecorded. There is a particular quality to this set of pictures, something about them that always makes me pause. One of the friends in the pictures was my best friend then. We were roommates in college for a while. I also stumbled across pictures of her wedding in which I served as a bridesmaid. She didn't stay married to that man. So many changes over time. Marriages end, people die. The months-old baby in one picture must be, oh, out of college now? Time just marches on. We spend the afternoon at evening at some friends. Snacking around the pool. Some people splashed and played. I sat in the shade. Don't need a sunburn. FFP tried a little of the sun and a good deal of maximum block. A meal of the flesh of many critters (chicken, sausage, brisket) and tasty sides finished the evening. Friends are great. Getting together fun. Now if it weren't for work tomorrow! I needed the long weekend. I need a few weeks off really. I'm feeling sort of depressed and nostalgic and even a little lost. A long weekend and old boxes of photos and thinking of old and new friends can do that. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have a daily journal like this...going back to the mind of that kid in the home sewn bathing suit, looking at the camera forlornly, unaware of what was coming and how amazing it would all be.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
