Looming workweek aside, Sundays are blissful. The Lord's day, but also my own. During football season when Dan can't be removed from the TV for 12 hours straight, it's my time to run errands or better yet, visit family & friends. Today is one of the latter and I couldn't be more content. First stop - Eileen and lil man Owen. I walk in, shed my coat and boots and smell the onions sauteeing for chili. Owen gives me one of his lil toothy grins (only two teeth are visible) and I can't help but unwind and settle into my "busy day of nothingness." Owen is at that irreplacable age where everything is a wonder. I watch amused, his sticky inspection of the carefully chopped cantaloupe. He tastes and sighs, and I fall deeper in love.
After a leisurely stroll to the library, Eileen and I enjoy a satisfying afternoon of chili and conversation. These moments are the kinds I savor, when time slows down and takes off its jacket, too. Sunday at 3:00pm has a distinctly different feel than 3:00pm on any other day of the week. I sit back to relish in the comfort of my best friend's inviting home, and the feeling that no matter what gets thrown at me this week, I have today, I have right now.
After several hours with two of my favorite people, I drive 5 minutes north to spend the rest of the day with some of my other favorite people. The first thing that occurs to me when I walk inside my parents' house is, "I am truly blessed." It seems so simple, but it cannot be taken for granted. I am lucky to be so loved and to be able to give that love in return. I find myself trying to remember this, to hold onto this moment right here because nothing is guaranteed, sadly for some people, not even a parent's love. But I am one of the lucky ones who can say that no matter what, there is love for me here.
My old bedroom still looks like I live there, half due to my own laziness and the other half to my inability to part with nostalgia. I decide today might be a good day to do some cleaning and finally "trim down." When I tell my mom of my intentions, she looks instantly relieved. I haven't lived here in years and I still manage to occupy two rooms with my clutter. Lenox and Cuisinart boxes are stacked high in the guest room, with hopes of relocating somewhere permanent. "Not today, boys" is what I think when I stare at the boxes and decide to tackle something a little less ambitious - my old dresser drawers.
Not that this is any small feat. The first drawer contains cards, letters, keychains, even a chunk of rock from Bryce Canyon (a trip my family took in 1990). I manage to part with many of the old cards and random papers, but then I spot my grandmother's handwriting and pull out some letters she wrote to me when I was in college. I miss her. I read and re-read the letters, noticing shakier penmanship on the letters with later dates. Even still, my grandmother's cursive is graceful. I miss her more.
I find the manila envelope marked "Important - Do NOT Throw Out" and smile. I know its contents, but have not looked at them in almost a decade. A paper time capsule. Inside contains four years of studying, reading, writing and late nights boiled down to a numbered grading system. Other items: My letter of acceptance to Oswego, an invitation letter to the Honors Program, even my housing form where I put "YEAH!!!" in giant bubble letters next to Kristi's name (my good friend from high school who would go on to become a best friend throughout college and to this day).
It feels like a million years ago that these forms were brand new, yet somehow, it also feels like I've just received them. Once again, time is seemingly relative. I don't know how many minutes go by before I pull myself back to today, to reality. Decades sprawl out before me on the pale pink carpet of my childhood, evidence that I've lived life and lived it well. No wonder I can't bear to part with these tangible memories. I throw away what I absolutely must, but the rest goes back in the drawer, spared.
Days such as today leave me feeling dreamlike, as if I'm watching my life through a window on a cold, snowy night. There are pieces I can no longer see; they've been obscured by the frost. The "artifacts" I've uncovered today are my reminders. They are my proof.
“Take care of all your memories. For you cannot relive them.” - Bob Dylan
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Your writing is so real! I am totally in your room right along with you. Now I was lucky enough to spend many a days and nights in the G household. I fondly remember talking about boys and friends and slam books in your room. I recall you putting up pictures, us listening to our "metal" LOL! The letters from your grandma got to me-I recall my grandmother writing to me in college and her handwriting also getting shakier and you could tell she could not write as much, sometimes only signing her name and mine.
ReplyDeleteGreat blog babe!
I remember many Sundays on that pink carpet...your mom would always come and get the sheets off your bed, wash them and then put them back on...all the while we were just laying on the floor - engrossed in whatever we were into. Until the delicious smells wafting up the stairs in the early evening - my signal that it was time to go back across the street.
ReplyDeleteGoing through old papers and letters always give me that feeling of walking out of the movie theater in the middle of the afternoon...somewhat disconnected to real time. Thanks for all the memories and for stirring them up with your blog and your writing!
~Courtney
"These moments are the kinds I savor, when time slows down and takes off its jacket, too."
ReplyDeleteI love this line so much.
I think so many women can truly relate to the collection of paper memories that you have stashed away at your parents house. It's a wonderful piece that could definitely be submitted to a woman's magazine.