A Little Trip Down Memory Lane

An old find... I just unearthed it and laughed so hard my teeth hurt so wanted to share w/you! It's not Abby, it's Grayson between 4-6 mos. He was reacting to me whistling a song. Needless to say it was the last song I whistled for a very long time.

I am a saver. I get it from my grandma, Boompa. She would literally put four peas and three carrots in a small bowl and sweetly cocoon them in Saran Wrap to be added to tomorrow's dish. She would save other things too, like wildlife. Boompa spent her (very!) hard earned money not on herself but on the ASPCA, Humane Society, and other philanthropies dedicated to helping all things have a better life. I am not as generous with my time or money yet but I'm glad I did get the saving gene from my dear grandmother and here's why:

In an effort to cull large quantities of pure stuff boxed up in our basement I began with old notebooks from college. I chose a few dilapidated looking ones with corners curving toward the sun, no doubt looking for resurrection. They found it. Let me tell you how much I enjoyed going through the pages of those old notebooks! It was better than any VHS home video I could've come across. Evidently, when I was in my late teens and early twenties I felt the need to chronicle every dark emotion that coursed my veins. Evidently, I considered myself quite the tortured soul and oozed love, hate, and quirky through every single pore because the pages told me so. Up from those yellowing diaries sprang a girl who had a great vocabulary (what happens to post baby brains anyway?), a zest for the dramatic, and a flair for zinging people who never received the zing because the page was still there, in tact and never sent (thank goodness). I found old letters to the boyfriends, to the boys who never wanted to be my boyfriend (yeah, you know who you are, you unscathed lads), to the nobody in particular, to the cosmos, to the girls who ticked me off for looking at me sideways (told you, DRAmaTIC!). Thrown in for good measure were drippy poems or halfway melodies purporting my love for birds, trees, meadows and oh yes, my eternal love: chocolate. At least I had that one right.

I'm so glad I saved these writings because otherwise I'd never know. I'd never know how far I've come from being so ungainly serious. I'd never know how much more fun I am to be around nowadays in my delirious sleepless haze and uninhibited running around in my socks. Don't get me wrong, at one time I needed to be that girl, so serious and affected. I must have loved her solidarity and romantic view of the world. I must've admired her sense of fairness and equality. But my GAWD, did I really think I had it so rough? Did I really believe what I was writing? What I'd love to do is pitter patter back in time to visit that size 6 (yeah, I admit it now since I'm pretty much a double digit lady now!) beatnik flowy skirt girl and frap her upside her clueless little head. I'd love to show her these stretch marks, swollen fingers (still!), and silver strands to let her see how flawless her life really was. OH, and these chestnut sized circles under my eyes that no amount of vanishing cream can vanish? Yeah, they're from four YEARS of interrupted "sleep" and not hours spent VOLUNTARILY at some studio recording hours and hours of songs I tortured myself over while subsequently never taking the time to finish. And I cried tired then...have mercy.

In honor of my former self, I'm going to read and catalog each sorrow-filled notebook. I know for a fact I'm going to need a good laugh if I reach 83. The irony there is that by that time, I will not recognize the woman who took the time to organize these old notebooks but that's not important. What's important to me is that I saved myself, for all those years, through all those moves, and through each cardboard box cleansing. I'm glad I didn't throw me away. It would've been easy and even tempting to deep six 'em all but I'm happy I didn't. Maybe one day Grayson and/or Abby will come across these gems and identify with the self-love and self-loathing of a twenty-something and realize how human their mom really was. That she wasn't always the brainless idiot playing air drums in the living room for a cheap laugh. Nevertheless, I think it's good to save yourself from time to time... even if that means carrying a heavier box load into your next move. :)