I don’t know why it is so hard to get rid of old letters–some decades old. Some memories I don’t want to delve in any longer yet I save the faded correspondence. Cards with nothing notable on them I trash easily. Some letters from my sister I wonder about. The memories seem so far away. Some are bad, some are good. Once in awhile a photo drops out of the letter and the passage of time is revealed. Was I really that young once? I have grown old. I don’t want to to rid myself entirely of past memories. Friends and lovers.

And I know when I am gone someone else will probably trash them. I just can’t bear to throw away most of my letters. Part of my life is embodied in those letters. It is so hard–patches of my history, my life is everywhere. Dates are sometimes important: they mark milestones of my past. I am always surprised how porous my memory is. Friends wrote me letters I have long forgotten. I do toss some. People have fled in the corridors of my mind. It is so hard. Clues of my history, my life is everywhere.

Tilla jumped enthusiastically on my bed to greet me.  He wanted a hug and was now on eye level.  His body shook all over in anticipation of my greeting.  Wouldn’t it be nice if all your friends made it that plain how glad they were to see you.  There is nothing like a dog for unconditional love.  In fact, some people prefer dogs to humans:  they don’t disguise their feelings.

My birthday was actually two weeks long this year.  My sisters (and their husbands) threw me a birthday bash at a beautiful restaurant with the Susquehanna River in the background. My sister in California arranged her itinerary (she and her husband were going to Spain) to be there.  The last time were were all together was two summers ago although this time my nephew and wife were there.  We were a party of thirteen.  I also invited some friends.  The weather was perfect (we ate on the deck of the restaurant) and so was the food.  We were commemorating my sixty-fifth birthday.  My one sister made the same cake my Mom used to make for our birthdays.  She went to a lot of trouble for me.  I don’t have many relatives but they are scattered from Shore to Shore.  Maybe if I make it we will have a seventieth birthday party.  We will see.

Why is it your own “blood” does not validate you?  My writing growing up was always taken for granted by my immediate family–my mom and dad and two sisters.  In the beginning it was my letter writing.  In the sixties I started keeping a journal.  In the late seventies I wrote poetry.  And now I am going on the fifth year of keeping a web site and blog.  Both of my parents are now dead.  I am not sure if my two sisters ever go on my web sites.  They usually don’t comment on them.  My writing is who I am, what is going on which is important to me.

Gratefully my wife cares about my writing, as well as other friends.  I found out I had a talent for making people laugh at open mikes.  And that is a validation of my writing although humor is not the only type of writing I do.  I keep getting hits on my web sites and that is encouraging.  And occasionally I get a poem published in a literary magazine.  I guess we choose our friends.  We can’t choose our family.  Up till his dying day my father who lived until ninety-two was more impressed with money than anything I wrote.  I was a failure in that area.  That still hurts.  Sometimes you have to go outside of your family for validation.  And that was my case.

Old friends are to be treasured.  I am visiting one in New Orleans.  He still makes me laugh after all these years.  I have known him since I was a kid.  There was a span of thirty years we lost contact.  Then I tracked him down.  We started going on a yearly camping/fishing trip.  I found out there was a reason we were friends back then.  There is still that connection between us.  There was a reason we were friends back then.  We have a history together.  I still love his dry sense of humor.  He continues to make me laugh.  Such friends are to be treasured.  Most people if they are lucky only have one or two such friends in their lifetime.

Why do your clothes have to look new all the time.  I have been hesitating to wear my bright orange cap because the brim is frayed.  I just wore it out.  I thought that was ridiculous.  Who cares it looks worn?  Why can’t we wear out clothing.  It was one of my favorite hats.  It has the name of a state park one of my best friends and I fished/camped the last five years.  The hat reminds me of him.  Today it matched my outfit so I will wear it despite what any one thinks.  I like the hat.  And that is enough for me.

Life is always about connections:  the relationships you make and maintain.  You should never neglect your mate but there is always a danger your relationship will become stale.  Sometimes a simple thing like leaving the house and doing a chore is good.  You find out others have problems and you are not alone.  People have a way of expressing their present concerns.  Sometimes it is a question of eavesdropping.  You are just there.  Like shopping in a food aisle.  Other times, you may want to reach out in some way.  Each person has a deep need to be listened to.  You just may be that person but you have to make yourself available.  No one lives in a vacuum.  Sometimes you have to take a chance–open up to someone.  There is no such thing as small talk.  Yes, it is true it may stay there but often it is an opening for you to take.

It is just not good to stay in the house all the time.  Our thoughts just revolve.  And we need to break the cycle.  Sometimes it means taking chances with perfect strangers.  You never know when you will meet an angel.  And furthermore how can you possibly make new friends if you do not take a chance by revealing something personal about you?  Each friend you have was once a stranger.  Never stop reaching out.  Life is about relationships.  In John Dunn’s words, ‘No man is an island’.  We don’t exist by ourselves.  We are all connected.  Each person has a deep need to love and be loved.

I want to count my blessings.  It is so easy to center on what I call my “lack”.  I am so blessed–materially and all kinds of ways that have nothing to do with things.  I have a wife who loves me.  And all kinds of other people who are glad to see me.  And I have a history with them.  My four dogs and even my cats who really do not pay much attention to me but I appreciate them nevertheless.  My life is not perfect but then, again, whose is?  Of course, this is a short and incomplete list.  I can go on and on but I won’t.  I am just glad to be home.

Today I will greet with a spirit of gratitude.  It is so easy to be ungrateful.  To look at your life and see many things that are lacking.  I will change the focus of it and thank the Almighty for all his gifts.  He has given me so much.  And I have to thank Him for so much:  Every breath I possess is His.  All the material wealth I possess is, also, His.  It is only mine temporarily.  It is only on loan.  As well as the people He puts in my life.  All on loan.  As well as my wife and direct relatives–my two sisters and cousins.  All on loan.  I have to thank God for all of it.  As well as my friends.  I will thank God for all of it and continue to greet this day with a spirit of gratitude.  It is all His.

Nothing Is Pemanent

Author: siggy

Nothing is permanent.  Mates and relatives die.  Friends move away or drift away from you.  Or even die.  The complexion of neighborhoods may change.  Some people move away, others move in.  Nothing is forever.

I remember once visiting my old neighborhood, where I grew up in and realized the community had changed drastically.

There was nothing no more to keep me there. My parents and friends had moved away.  I could not go back to my old haunts.  They were not there any longer.

I had to start all over somewhere else.  And I did in Morristown.  For fifteen years I lived there.  Then my life took me somewhere else.  Pennsylvania.

Of course, at some point you realize you have so much time and have to decide where you are going to spend the remainder of your life.

There is something to be said for roots.  When you spend a lifetime in one area and invested time and energy in reaching out to others, you have roots and who else will want to help you but these very people you have spent a lifetime with.

Moving far away from your roots, the friends you cultivated for years and close relatives may leave you stranded.  There may come a time you need their help.  You will not be young forever.

Of course, there is an assumption you care about your roots and friends.  There is so many times you can move and develop roots in another area.  That usually take years.  Sometimes a lifetime.  All that needs to be considered in a major move.

For the first time I was the old man.  We talked for a long time.  And frequently.  She was waylaid:  she had broken her leg badly and was home recovering.  I started calling her home and having long conversations.

She told me her Dad died several years ago and she was quite close to him and no one ever replaced him.  She had no older man to talk to any longer until me.

She was married and so was I and my other did not appreciate the longer calls and wanted me to stop them.  I knew when she went back to work they would.  For the first time I was the older male, the older confidant and the realization was somewhat startling.

Not that it was any thing more than that.  It was not.  For the first time I had become the older male–the father figure and that was a role I never thought of myself.  I just got older.

I spritz the Boston fern in the post office almost every day.  And the Norfolk pine.  It is a conversation opener.  Last year the two Boston ferns were not doing well.  Then I started misting them both every day.

I had a running conversation with the clerk who has a dour disposition whether the two plants were going to make it.  It broke the ice.  We gradually became friends.  Now I say “Hello” to him every time I am in the post office.  And we usually exchange a few words.

I continue to mist the plants.  Sometimes I threaten to spray the postmaster.  She runs in the opposite direction when I point the mister towards her.  Or just laughs at me.  She knows I am not serious.  It is just a little game we play.

Other customers smile when they see me in the post office spraying the plants.  It is a great conversation opener.