Frame of Mine

One week ago I was strong, confident.  Since then I have been mostly housebound, struggling through a relentless back pain.  I'm humbled by my fragile body.

My son breaks into this frame of mine, stealing my self-pitying thunder.  I soften.  Things may not be as bad as they appear.

Skin Feeling

My baby.  At seven he still enjoys long baths.  Plastic toys float about the tub.  He can remain immersed for hours.  Water rolls over his skin, sometimes his tongue.  Pure sensory delight.

At seven he still allows me to hold him close.  Drunk on his flesh, I am grateful beyond words.

Round Trip

The sun ever-sparkles and the season never fades.  Still dreaming of California - - I see a final sip, dried foliage, an emptied hotel room.

Where I live the seasons noticeably shift as we cycle along in tandem.  Things end only to begin anew.

Two Peter Pans

 

In my last post I claimed a disinterest in associating nostalgia with objects.  This does not hold true for me when it comes to photographs.

I discovered a younger version of our family recently when going through an old photo album.  I paused at a Polaroid of my son in preschool holding three teddy bears.  I was reminded of a time when he openly expressed affection for stuffed animals and didn't want to leave my side.

The stuffed animals are piled in a corner now, starved for attention.  I know their pain.

Someday I will look back at this photograph and it will become a substitute for the memory - -  a reminder of my boys dazed at a hot summer day's end, their two bodies at rest on my bed.  A wistful trip to Neverland when I was Tinker Bell, sprinkling digital ephemera for fairy dust.

Let Go

My footwear prevented me from walking much beyond the deck of my cousins' yard.  Although they do not live deep in the woods my cousins hunt and gather.  They have spent years combing through yard sales and flea markets happening upon the perfect metal serving tray or antique board game.  They have been trying to pare down to sell their home.  No one wants to buy a house with the personal effects included, so the majority will be have to be jettisoned or placed into storage, I suppose.

Objects can have symbolic and sometimes sacred value.  Through them, we long affectionately for the remote places we once occupied.  Many people find comfort in objects for this reason, but I do not.  So I clean and clear, getting rid of things that lack resonance and cause me distraction.  I do not wish to be held hostage emotionally by nostalgia.  I choose grit over sentimentality.  I let go.