Nostalgia....

Yesterday I went looking for something in a box of old memories.

Wow...that sounds really poetic doesn't it? I might have to keep that for later.

Anyway...I literally pulled down a box of things I've kept from my childhood, Brent's childhood and the first few years of our marriage and dug through the stuff to look for something. Little flowers that I have been drawing for years as my absent minded doodles, to be specific. I knew that in that box there would be notes sent, letters written, old fiction starts, tons of bad poetry and also doodled in the margins those little flowers. They were there, snap, snap, snap, cut and paste and viola! picture of the day done!

But since I had the box out I poked around more and read some of the things I had kept. I had notes passed in class between old boyfriends and myself, between friends and myself and notes from Brent when we were first dating. I also had letters sent from long distance boyfriends. I thought about tossing all of those away and just keeping the ones from Brent. But then I didn't. There were reasons for keeping them. Things I wouldn't have been able to tell you before I saw them again but could now.

There was the note from a boy I dated most of the way through high school off and on. It was sent on Valentine's Day and he talked about missing seeing me during passing period but he had a surprise for me. The surprise had been a piece of jewelry he had planned on giving me (I found out later). The real surprise I got was between the time he sent me the note and the time we met up after school he had decided to break up with me. I kept the note because it was the first time I had been dumped out of the blue. And because once we were back together and broken up a few more times I thought it was just the perfect summation of our relationship. There were going to be surprises, but us not staying together wasn't one of them.

I had a letter from a boy I went out with briefly (like twice) that was one of the most infuriating and short lived relationships I had. In the letter he told me that he wasn't sure why he liked me. I wasn't feminine, like he normally went for, I wasn't blonde enough, I wasn't passive, I was pretty but not in a really obvious way, I was a little too smart. What the actual fuck? Tucked in to that envelope was the rough draft of the letter I sent him in reply that basically said what the actual fuck, though in much more polite terms. The reason we were writing letters was we were both traveling that summer, between summer camps and tours, I can remember calling him from California after sending the letter, because he had asked me to call him and for some reason I did. He wanted to get together for a coke when I got home. I laughed and asked him if he had a list of more things that were wrong with me that he was willing to overlook. We never saw each other again. But he was a good lesson for me so I kept the letters.

And I had a ton of really bad writing. Fiction, poetry, song lyrics. Why did I think I could write songs? I know I've dumped a ton of really awful stuff I've written (it's actually a bad habit of mine and one that writing on the computer made worse, too easy to delete a file) but I did keep some. Anyone who knows me now would be surprised at the religious poetry. But anyone who spent a week at El Porvenir hiking, singing and going to Bible study would understand. A lot of kids came home from camp fully committed to being minsters or missionaries. The problem is that you don't spend all of your time immersed like that and eventually the joy of camp couldn't outweigh the rest of my beliefs, or lack thereof. But that poetry and those memories are a big part of why I don't begrudge anyone their religion. I fully understand the peace that passeth understanding. I just believe it comes from a different source now.

There was an entire box of letters from Brent and to Brent from the Navy. Back in the day (yes, I am old) when Brent would go out to sea there was no internet, no Skyping, no cell phones, there was just a really short and expensive phone call when he would pull in to port and the daily letters. When I settled in for the night I would write him a letter and send it off the next day, every day. A number on the envelope to let him know which letter to read first since they came in batches. And for 6 months at a shot that's how we communicated. Questions that were asked were answered a month later. But it was a way to stay connected. The pure joy of checking the mailbox and getting a letter? Can't even describe it.

I also found some pictures of people that I scanned and posted for them on their Facebook pages, or kept and am waiting for the right time to post. I found some drawings a friend did for me when we were in high school and I scanned one of those and posted it for him. It also happened to be his birthday yesterday so it was nice to give him back something.

But mostly I looked at the things I had kept and read old work. And I wished I had more. More pictures, I had more than enough bad work. We didn't have a camera on us at all times like now so I don't have pictures of most of the people I spent most of my time with. And there are a few pictures out there that I wish I could find now. Like I know there is a shot of Brent, Cinnamon and me at the trailer on the way to graduation. I can remember posing on the steps of the porch, in my mind we are all on different stairs, each holding a cigarette and wearing our caps and gowns. But I don't have it. Or any shots of that day actually. So I looked at what I had and then I packed it all back up and had Brent put it back on the high shelf in the garage.

I could probably get rid of a lot of it and never really miss it. I couldn't have told you in more than a general sense what was in that box before yesterday morning. But it's one box. It doesn't take up much room. And in another ten years when I go through it again I will be grateful I kept it. And in another twenty I imagine I won't remember who all of those people other than Brent and I were and I can toss it all then...