Let us just start very slowly with these few words, because I think it is possible that we will have to hand out words in single-serving, pre-wrapped with wax paper and tied at either end with the sort of ribbon you can run a scissor blade over so that it curls in on itself.
Another night of Roosevelt. I feel a visceral love for the black and white nostalgia that both investigates and gilds the past, contextualizes the facts and figures, makes them soft and loveable, sad and stoic because they have a human driving them around. It makes me realize how much these things create a palimpsest. That the FDR rise to power and administration happens while the Baseball documentary’s history is playing out while the Temperance movement is becoming coherent. That there is no vacuum sealed packages of history. That as we take our scalpel to extract one segment, we inevitably score along the edge of another and it bleeds a little into whatever we draw out to put under our microscope.
I realize how I am at a critical juncture in my own history. That this was the last post-work event I will go to before the word is out. The last time that I am one of the girls, the last time before – just as I saw with my boss – my leaving becomes all there is to talk about. I walked instead of driving since it was just a few blocks away. Hugged a client/friend/acquaintance and told her how proud I was of her accomplishment – one of longevity, of surviving a year in business. All day I kept my door shut, both because I want quiet and calm to work and because I want to create separation in their minds. Since I can’t – for at least a few more days – say that I am changing history, I have to start feeling like I am not walking in tandem anymore. I need to let the connection fray and strain.
Sunday, my mother has us signed up to go see a cousin we haven’t seen in ages, who lives, actually, very nearby.y beloved aunt’s son, one of five, one of a set of twins. His children are my age but while we played together as kids, we never really bonded. I don’t think I did, honestly, with any of my cousins. I was far more comfortable sitting around the table with the adults reciting jokes I’d memorized from Readers’ Digest. Yes. I did that. More than once. His kids now have kids and normally, I would feel a little bit uneasy about these kinds of family get-togethers which are all about measuring progress (either it seems that way or it is that way), but this time, even though I’m not, y’know, married and about to have a kid…I’ve got a lot on the table. Travel. Job change. And some sort of forward trajectory that is making me feel more alive than I’ve felt in four or five or eight years.
Dang, I wish I had one tenth of you to share this with, though. One corner of the old heart. Me and Miss Suckley, we manage somehow.