Memories in a Shoe Box

Summer is in full swing around here. This is evidenced by the two junior members of the family staying up far into the night and sleeping far into the day. When they are conscious, they are interested in watching TV, talking on the phone with their friends, IM'’ing same, playing computer games and not much else. Chores, talking to their father, or playing outside with the ticks does not seem to be on their dance cards.

I must say that J is being quite involved with the planning for this Saturday'’s luncheon however. He is in frequent contact with the chef regarding the design of the menu and some other things. This is good. He is taking his responsibilities seriously.

K is simply in love with summer (see paragraph 1). She helped work the SP Blues Festival last Saturday. She recruited a friend and they took tickets at the gate. Reportedly, they had a great time. I would have liked to go but I had friends coming down from up north, and others coming over for dinner, so I stayed home and prepared for that.

Yesterday, on Father'’s Day, I went to the Blind Lizard Motorcycle Rallye and Family Picnic which has been my habit for many years. I tried to get my old BMW ready for running, and while it ran, it ran noisily. I tried to set the valve clearances but managed to screw something up in the process, so I arrived and left on an embarrassingly clattery bike that is otherwise known for its quiet running.

The weather was absolutely gorgeous yesterday. Warm, sunny, and not too humid. I am sure that there are many lobster backs today on those who doffed their shirts at the rally. I did not stay very long. I have been feeling unsettled and felt like I had to get back home to do other chores.

There are so many things that C did as a matter of course that I must try to do. I always feel that I am forgetting something. I make myself long lists every day that I try to tick off task by task. Somedays I do better than others, but it doesn’t seem to help when it comes time to sleep. I often wake up in the middle of the night and lay there, empty.

Speaking of lists, I came across another one of C'’s this morning, buried in a little box in her closet under a receipt and four one dollar bills (what were they doing there). It says:

• Stop or go
• What is said is not what happens, can'’t do it
• Wake up ignored
• Love → help
• Not willing to live with consequences
• Illness
• Death
• Violence
• Memory loss
• Want it to work
• Go away & think over

When I come across these cryptic notes, I wonder what do they mean? When a person dies, so much is lost. Clearly, there are the obvious things, but what about the little saved things that are found in shoe boxes put away in a storage room. The pictures of people from an early part of their lives with no titles or explanations on the back. The little mementos that we all save to remind ourselves of a special time, place, or person. When we are not there to remember, what do they turn into? I have a collection of those things now. They are orphaned memories gently packed away by someone who will never again open the box on a rainy afternoon and travel back in time to visit a precious moment.

I miss her so.

P.