another year older

I am beginning my new year by having lost some items I have been holding onto for, perhaps, too long. Much as earlier this year I gave away the futon I had in my life since 1981, I now have other longstanding items no longer in my possession. These items were not consciously remanded to another. No.
The first items were my eyeglasses and their case. I had this pair of glasses since 1978 or so, perhaps a year earlier. They had large frames that matched my hair, being a tan tortoise-shell pattern. I had different lens prescriptions fitted in over the years, of course, adjusting for aging eyes as needed, but continuing to use those same frames. The latest set of lens were polycarbonate, shatterproof for use in the lab. The left lens had been damaged by continuous exposure to tears after my mother died in 2001.
I knew the glasses had run their course, and run it long and well, but I could not - would not - put them aside. I had already purchased new eyeglasses, with a new prescription, in December of 2007. The new glasses waited, unused, while I continued to use the old pair. Now, almost four years later, my well-worn glasses, and the soft case in which I kept them, are gone. Somewhere in Richmond, Virginia, a little over a week ago, the glasses' case didn't make it into my purse, and I didn't catch the loss until the next day. I thought about calling my friends in Richmond, to ask them to search their home, search their yard, search their car. I considered asking them to return to the restaurant and ask if my glasses were perhaps still there.
But I did not. I already have new glasses waiting at home and I have purchased a pair of reading glasses to use whilst away. I decided that this was as good a time as any for change - and I feel good about my decision. After all, I am beginning a new year of my life and change is warranted at such a time.
Then, two days ago, I accidentally erased all the text messages in the "inbox" of my phone. I had thought I was in the "sentbox" and I was trying to free up space to send pictures from my phone to elsewhere. I had quite a few pictures to send, as I use my phone as my camera, especially when on vacation and with sister-friends, as I am currently.
My phone had told me it was out of memory, so I meant to remove those images which were duplicated in my "sentbox". You know, the pictures I had already sent away for safekeeping. But the hour was late and I was not in the "sentbox" but my "inbox". I didn't even realize what I had done until I tried to send out more pictures... and again received the "out of memory" response. And when I rechecked my "sentbox", I realized my error, too late.
My "inbox" had preserved the last three text messages from Sam Johnson, dead these past two years. In one message, he wrote his support after meeting my bird on April 10, 2009. In another, he had forwarded a joke: "These guards won't let me see you in the zoo. I have peanuts." or some such silliness. That one was around April 14, 2009. The third, and final text was sent on April 17, 2009, and read: "@ comicbox. wanna meet for dinner b4 steeds?"
I had held on to these messages. He didn't seem so permanently gone as long as I still had words he had written specifically for me... right? Maybe, maybe not. Perhaps it was time for me to let go of that grief and my subconscious mind took over and caused that mistaken elimination of those messages. However it happened, the end result is the same: those text messages, as well as a few others I had saved from other friends and family, are gone, vanished into the ether from whence they came.
And I'm good. I have even been gracious in my acceptance of the loss of these items. And now that I have documented them, and their loss, in this ethereal space, they don't seem lost after all. They are simply put away for safekeeping for all to see as well as more deeply into my memory.
And that is better and a good way for me to begin a new year.

it's a ... PLAY FESTIVAL!!!

This year, I'm commemorating my birth month by giving something back to the community. Specifically, I'm supporting the creative spirit in this lovely city near the sea. I do adore Shakespeare and the very thought of helping to bring new life to his works is - is - mindbogglingly exciting! I am so excited about June 10th and 11th!!!

here we go now!

As Ozzy would say, in "Flying High Again", here we go now!
April, thank God, is O V E R at last.
I seem to have gone through this same overwhelmed, terribly sad thing last year, too, with the madness blowing out the window with the sweet spring breezes. I know this from my blog. My very first entry in May is back to gratitude for the changes in my life, rather than mourning for people and times lost in the past.
Again, I say, THANK GOD.

talking to the moon

Bruno Mars, a very talented singer with a bluesy voice, has this song about death, "Talking to the Moon". Very wistful, hopeful, and sad.
I can totally relate.
Here are the lyrics:

i know you're somewhere out there, somewhere far away
i want you back
i want you back

my neighbors think i'm crazy, but they don't understand
you're all I had
you're all I had

at night when the stars light up my room
i sit by myself
talking to the moon
trying to get to you
in hopes you're on the other side talking to me too
or am i a fool who sits alone
talking to the moon

i'm feeling like i'm famous, the talk of the town
they say i've gone mad
yeah, i've gone mad

but they don't know what i know cause when the sun goes down
someone's talking back
yeah, they're talking back

at night when the stars light up my room
i sit by myself
talking to the moon
trying to get to you
in hopes you're on the other side talking to me too
or am i a fool who sits alone
talking to the moon

will you ever hear me calling

cause every night i'm talking to the moon
still trying to get to you
in hopes you're on the other side
talking to me too
or am i a fool who sits alone
talking to the moon

i know you're somewhere out there, somewhere far away

---------------------------------
"Talking to the Moon", Songwriters: Bruno Mars;Jeff Bhasker;Ari Levine;Albert Winkler;Phillip Lawrence

What can I say? Easter brings out the melancholy in me...

2 years ago today

Two years ago today, Daddy drew his last breaths of Southern air. Here's a memory of a much happier day for me, for him, and for my stepmama, Bonnie.

the boys next door

Tonight, I went to see several of my friends in the Tom Griffin play, "The Boys Next Door". I didn't know much of anything about the play, really, but perhaps it would have been better if I had looked it up. It's a bittersweet story of the relationship between a caretaker and four men. The four men are living together in a group home, four men of varying age and mental ability. Three of the men have some degree of mental retardation; the fourth is schizophrenic and is living there, no doubt, because the state doesn't know where else to put him.
I did not know the setting of the play.
But why should that matter?
It matters because Mama was involved with the Chatham Association for Retarded Citizens, the charity she asked to be mentioned in her obituary, a charitable group which is now defunct. It matters because my first niece, while in middle school and high school, was involved as a volunteer with STEPS, a program to assist mentally disabled children in public schools, a program which is now defunct. It matters because I continue to support the Special Olympics Georgia every year, ever since the CARC disappeared, donating because Mama would have.
At first, the play was fairly light with lots of chuckles thrown in. I'm a fan of a television show called "The Big Bang Theory", which follows the friendship of four science geeks, warts and all. It shines a favorable light on autism in general and Asperger's Syndrome in particular, as well as bringing science (mostly physics and engineering) into the living rooms and dens of thousands of homes here in the States. I realize that there is a huge difference between autism and mental retardation - but how many do?
So, I'm watching the play and laughing along with other members of the audience. As I said, I know several of these actors and I enjoyed seeing their portrayal of the characters, especially the three mentally retarded men. You see, I thought they were doing a very good job of capturing the essence of the characters and the mental capacity of each for understanding the world around them.
I didn't have a clue about the message of the play. Well, actually, I did, but I chose to only pay minimal attention to it. The caretaker would speak in asides to the audience, giving us insights into these men, letting us know how burned out he was by this job, but also telling us how much he cared for these men and what was to become of them.
It struck me as odd the first time he did this, but I let it slide, accepting it as exposition, waiting to see what would follow.
A dance followed. In this community of "broken" people, a monthly dance was held, to encourage socializing, at least to an extent. And so we see the romance between Norman and Sheila, both of whom seem to be at about the same level of mental retardation, both of whom like each other. We watch as they awkwardly dance together, each at arm's length, feet shuffling, bodies bent, and we chuckle at the sight, as we are meant to do. Then, as the first act is ending on this duo, the scene shifts and they are close together in each other's arms, graceful, skilled, synchronized bodies moving to the beat.
And that's when it hits me: this is how THEY see themselves. They KNOW how "normal" people dance, they've seen them on television if not in person. And, in their minds, THEY are swaying to the beat, two rhythmic creatures moving as one across the floor.
And that's when I cried and found myself unable to be lighthearted about this play anymore. We had been privy to the perspective of the characters, the curtain had been lifted.
After all, don't we ALL carry such a distorted image of ourselves? And shouldn't we ALL realize that none of us are perfect? Not the ones who are physical beauties, not the ones who are incredibly brilliant, not the ones skilled in athletics, not one of us.
There's a quote that shows up in emails from time to time and it goes something like this: "Be kinder than necessary, for everyone is fighting their own battles."
I'll try.

missing a friend

You are missed, kid.