It's interesting how each step taken in life leads farther from where we thought it would when we started, whether it's along the intended route or not. So many things divert attention along the way that sometimes, before you know it, you find yourself looking around wondering how you got there, and where the time went. How is it possible to have thoughts, emotions, and recollections that transcend decades?!
A few years ago I awoke one morning, opened my eyes, and briefly but certainly was back in a different place, a different time, 25 years removed. The emotions that moment of incomplete consciousness stirred within were penetrating to the heart of me. As I came into full consciousness I was completely emotionally exposed. I cried the entire day! I called my Mom. I called my dear friend who shared so much of my life at the time. I wrote. I remembered, and wept with an intense longing for those days again. A do over that would offer me a chance to do it better, and not forget anything, and appreciate everything. A second shot at not allowing the ugly realities of that time to steal away from me the beauty of that time. The beauty of my sweet friendship, the beauty of my precious children, the beauty of the dream that could have unfolded were it not for the ugly.
It was the antique curtains. The way the early morning sun from just the right spot in the sky filtered through them, highlighting the cream, dusty pink and pale green of the cabbage roses set on a long blue bed of satiny old fabric. Those same curtains had hung in far away long ago windows just as they hung that day. I saw them, perhaps without seeing them, every morning, every time I entered that room, still this time, I saw them as so much more than a decorative covering for the window. They represented a part of my past, one that was once filled with the hopes of a life that would have been very different than the life that in fact was. It was not that the life my steps had taken me to was not good, but that the hopes and dreams of that long ago far away time were never fulfilled, and at that moment, a brutish reality forced me to admit that they never would be. Those opportunities had presented themselves for a season, and when the season passed, so too the opportunities. I willingly veered in a different direction all those years ago, seeing a fresh beginning, adventure, change, my vision had a new focus. I had not obtained enough life experience to know that the new direction would lead me so far from the old that there would be no return.
That day, and for the next few to follow, I mulled over in my mind the things I left behind, most importantly the people, and then the possibilities. It was hard. I retraced steps and saw along the way where I had to set some things down because the arms of my life were filling with other things, thinking I'd go back for it when I could, but never did, I never could. Some of the things I had to shed were best left by the side of the road, given the opportunity I would not have retrieved them anyway. All along what had become the road of my life there were hopes, plans, dreams and wishes that had been cast off to make way for new ones. It's true for everybody. One can only juggle so many things at any given time, some simply must be set aside.
That day I mourned the cast offs that were as much a part of me and my past, as my present. I did not let go easily, and I would only ever let go to the extent that I could not pick up where I left off. But where I could, whether on paper, or the re-telling of stories, or just in my own thoughts, I would, and do, pay homage to the yesterdays that have shaped today, to the antique curtains that I still own. They're folded up in the linen closet right now, I can't part with them, one day I'll hang them in a window again. They will be part of a "new" decorating plan as they serve also to remind of the old.
My son called the other day to tell me he'd found out that our old house on Sherman road is abandoned. It's the house my Grandpa built when my Dad was 10 years old. After Grandpa and his family lived their lives in that house, I and my family lived a portion of ours there. My son remembers. He remembers his uncle teaching him to ride a two wheeler on the tar-tab driveway, he remembers turning over the giant railroad ties that lined it, to hunt for snakes, he remembers.
The antique curtains hung at the window facing the field that Grandpa farmed, and my Dad's horse grazed when he was a boy. The field where I'd always hoped to see my own horse lazily indulge in the grasses and sunshine. Sunshine filtered through beautiful antique curtains from just the right spot in the sky. The spot where the present intersects with the past in a glorious unforgettable burst of life.
P.J.
A few years ago I awoke one morning, opened my eyes, and briefly but certainly was back in a different place, a different time, 25 years removed. The emotions that moment of incomplete consciousness stirred within were penetrating to the heart of me. As I came into full consciousness I was completely emotionally exposed. I cried the entire day! I called my Mom. I called my dear friend who shared so much of my life at the time. I wrote. I remembered, and wept with an intense longing for those days again. A do over that would offer me a chance to do it better, and not forget anything, and appreciate everything. A second shot at not allowing the ugly realities of that time to steal away from me the beauty of that time. The beauty of my sweet friendship, the beauty of my precious children, the beauty of the dream that could have unfolded were it not for the ugly.
It was the antique curtains. The way the early morning sun from just the right spot in the sky filtered through them, highlighting the cream, dusty pink and pale green of the cabbage roses set on a long blue bed of satiny old fabric. Those same curtains had hung in far away long ago windows just as they hung that day. I saw them, perhaps without seeing them, every morning, every time I entered that room, still this time, I saw them as so much more than a decorative covering for the window. They represented a part of my past, one that was once filled with the hopes of a life that would have been very different than the life that in fact was. It was not that the life my steps had taken me to was not good, but that the hopes and dreams of that long ago far away time were never fulfilled, and at that moment, a brutish reality forced me to admit that they never would be. Those opportunities had presented themselves for a season, and when the season passed, so too the opportunities. I willingly veered in a different direction all those years ago, seeing a fresh beginning, adventure, change, my vision had a new focus. I had not obtained enough life experience to know that the new direction would lead me so far from the old that there would be no return.
That day, and for the next few to follow, I mulled over in my mind the things I left behind, most importantly the people, and then the possibilities. It was hard. I retraced steps and saw along the way where I had to set some things down because the arms of my life were filling with other things, thinking I'd go back for it when I could, but never did, I never could. Some of the things I had to shed were best left by the side of the road, given the opportunity I would not have retrieved them anyway. All along what had become the road of my life there were hopes, plans, dreams and wishes that had been cast off to make way for new ones. It's true for everybody. One can only juggle so many things at any given time, some simply must be set aside.
That day I mourned the cast offs that were as much a part of me and my past, as my present. I did not let go easily, and I would only ever let go to the extent that I could not pick up where I left off. But where I could, whether on paper, or the re-telling of stories, or just in my own thoughts, I would, and do, pay homage to the yesterdays that have shaped today, to the antique curtains that I still own. They're folded up in the linen closet right now, I can't part with them, one day I'll hang them in a window again. They will be part of a "new" decorating plan as they serve also to remind of the old.
My son called the other day to tell me he'd found out that our old house on Sherman road is abandoned. It's the house my Grandpa built when my Dad was 10 years old. After Grandpa and his family lived their lives in that house, I and my family lived a portion of ours there. My son remembers. He remembers his uncle teaching him to ride a two wheeler on the tar-tab driveway, he remembers turning over the giant railroad ties that lined it, to hunt for snakes, he remembers.
The antique curtains hung at the window facing the field that Grandpa farmed, and my Dad's horse grazed when he was a boy. The field where I'd always hoped to see my own horse lazily indulge in the grasses and sunshine. Sunshine filtered through beautiful antique curtains from just the right spot in the sky. The spot where the present intersects with the past in a glorious unforgettable burst of life.
P.J.
That was beautiful - I'm a little behind in reading it but I wanted to let you know how much I loved it.
ReplyDelete