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Dar and I took a whack of garbage and junk to the dump this afternoon. I love going to the dump. Yeah, I know. But really, it's very well organized there, and I feel a small but strong sense of accomplishment when I toss all those bags into the appropriate containers. Plus there's the knowledge that there's that much less junk back at the house.
I ended up tossing a lot of old photographs out as well. I've been sorting through them off and on, weeding out a lot of pictures along the way. It's kind of sad, but the truth is that they're only important to me. It's not as if I have any kids to whom I'd pass them along. No one cares that that's my great-grandfather or hey - there are my best friends from high school. When I'm gone, their relevance is gone, too. So I'm keeping only a small percentage to nudge the memory, kindle the nostalgia. (It sounds much more maudlin than it really is.)
I don't at all regret not having children. It was certainly the right choice for me given my circumstances back then. Still, it does put a big "THE END" stamp on my mortality, especially since my brother and SIL don't have children, either. They have dogs; I have cats. It's not quite the same, eh. I did have a couple of poems published back in college, and somewhere at Wesleyan are a few plays I'd written that were produced there. My soupcon of dust-covered immortality :)
And speaking of nostalgia and such, my brother just told me today that one of his best friends from high school (and a friend of mine as well) got in touch with him. Their 40th high school reuinion is coming up, but they have no intention of attending. Instead they and their third bud are planning on getting together soon. Awww. Since the two friends had the same first name, we always called them by their last names - Kelly and McCall. I haven't seen them in 35 years, I bet. I was just looking at their photos last night and wondering how they were getting on. I can't imagine either of them as middle-aged men. Because I haven't seen them in so long they'll always be as young in my memory as they appear in their photos: two shaggy-haired hippie boys :) Well, Kelly looked like a hippie; McCall just acted like one. They're both still living in the same area where they grew up, just as my brother chose to do. That could never be me. I just can't fathom not wanting to see more than my home town. Gotta see what's over that next rise, you know?
Maybe that's what's wrong with me lately. I need to see something different. Not exotic, not far away - just different. If it ever stops raining, maybe I'll kidnap Dar for the day - or even just the afternoon - and go exploring. Splurge on a tank of gas and just see what's around some of these old roads. I hate being housebound. I may be an introvert, but damn it, I'm an introvert with wanderlust. I've always loved that word. Wanderlust. It's perfect, isn't it?
And now it's time to wander off to bed. But first it's the nightly ritual of luring all of the sleepy kitty cats from my room. How did my life get this weird?
I ended up tossing a lot of old photographs out as well. I've been sorting through them off and on, weeding out a lot of pictures along the way. It's kind of sad, but the truth is that they're only important to me. It's not as if I have any kids to whom I'd pass them along. No one cares that that's my great-grandfather or hey - there are my best friends from high school. When I'm gone, their relevance is gone, too. So I'm keeping only a small percentage to nudge the memory, kindle the nostalgia. (It sounds much more maudlin than it really is.)
I don't at all regret not having children. It was certainly the right choice for me given my circumstances back then. Still, it does put a big "THE END" stamp on my mortality, especially since my brother and SIL don't have children, either. They have dogs; I have cats. It's not quite the same, eh. I did have a couple of poems published back in college, and somewhere at Wesleyan are a few plays I'd written that were produced there. My soupcon of dust-covered immortality :)
And speaking of nostalgia and such, my brother just told me today that one of his best friends from high school (and a friend of mine as well) got in touch with him. Their 40th high school reuinion is coming up, but they have no intention of attending. Instead they and their third bud are planning on getting together soon. Awww. Since the two friends had the same first name, we always called them by their last names - Kelly and McCall. I haven't seen them in 35 years, I bet. I was just looking at their photos last night and wondering how they were getting on. I can't imagine either of them as middle-aged men. Because I haven't seen them in so long they'll always be as young in my memory as they appear in their photos: two shaggy-haired hippie boys :) Well, Kelly looked like a hippie; McCall just acted like one. They're both still living in the same area where they grew up, just as my brother chose to do. That could never be me. I just can't fathom not wanting to see more than my home town. Gotta see what's over that next rise, you know?
Maybe that's what's wrong with me lately. I need to see something different. Not exotic, not far away - just different. If it ever stops raining, maybe I'll kidnap Dar for the day - or even just the afternoon - and go exploring. Splurge on a tank of gas and just see what's around some of these old roads. I hate being housebound. I may be an introvert, but damn it, I'm an introvert with wanderlust. I've always loved that word. Wanderlust. It's perfect, isn't it?
And now it's time to wander off to bed. But first it's the nightly ritual of luring all of the sleepy kitty cats from my room. How did my life get this weird?
