A day of nostalgia

 

Today I woke up with great resolve. "I am going to clean my bedroom", I said to myself.
"Yup, today is the day, no more procrastinating, it is for sure going to happen today".

Well, sort of. I began by reaching into a mysterious corner. You know the one, the one that you have piled things into for months, maybe years and actually have not the vaguest idea of what lives there. What a series of surprises - two gorgeous pairs of sandals I'd forgotten I bought,  discovered just in time for my end of the month visit to Florida,  a wonderful box of old photographs that took me at least one hour or more to go through and lots of little bits of knitting that I must have started in a flash of creative energy, but sadly remained unfinished. This was just the beginning.

The bottom of the pile was held up by an old trunk. The trunk is the one I used every summer when I went to summer camp so it has been with me for about fifty years.  Forty years ago Ralph and I painted the trunk red, white and blue and used it as a coffee table in our first apartment in the Bronx. Then we used the trunk to ship all sorts of things over here from the States when we moved to London and finally, the trunk is the depository of memories.

I am almost afraid to open this old trunk filled with the past. I know it contains clothes that I made for my daughter when she was tiny, little tiny shirts I decorated for Ben, some of which he never got to wear, and also some wonderful little knitted outfits, sweaters, booties and blankets I knitted before Sam was born. Every single piece is infused with feeling and it is not the day for me to open the floodgates to those feelings.  There are also stuffed animals and toys that belonged to my kids.  I don't know what else is in this old friend of a trunk, but I will open it another day and maybe not alone.

Every old photo I found had a story attached to it. I find it remarkable that we embroider so many stories and so many narratives through our lives.  It is as if we're afraid we won't exist without the stories and yet I think that each story keeps me stuck to the past.  Again it comes down to creating a more certain world, a surety of events.  If I can so clearly define my past, then I can easily predict my future, but is this really what I want?

Last night I watched 'as Good As It Gets' with Jack Nicholson.  He plays a miserable man with a life narrowed by OCD. During one of his panic moments, in his psychiatrist's office, he looks at the waiting clients and says, "What if this is as good as it gets?"  Sobering question isn't it? It got me thinking, what if it is as good as it gets, what if this is it?  Am I content with this, is there more? Do I want more?

My answer surprised me.  If this is it, if this as good as it gets, that's fine. After all, it's pretty damned good, but you know what's clear for me - I want more.  Being alive has so much possibility of adventure. There are so many surprises still in store and yes, somuch uncertainty.  I am willing to risk living with uncertainty to get some more.  I'm glad I can see that. It makes it easier for me to ride the mad waves of my life.

Just now, I stopped reminiscing and clearing to space out in front of the TV for a while.  When I switched on the TV a movie that I loved when I was little girl was on. I remember watching Carousel in the cinema and it was one of the first LP records my parents bought.  I knew the words to every song and sat here and cried along with them.  Just when I thought I could stop the nostalgia and memories this damned movie came on.  I cried as I sang just now, not because the story was so sad, but because the sense of nostalgia for my past was so strong.

What a strange day soaked with memories.  I'm worn out!