The last couple of nights, we watched two good, two rather good documentaries about famous American Writers. One documentary was about the life of Kurt. Sweet, not perfect, very human, Kurt. Kurt Vonnegut. We watched a documentary about Kurt’s life, quite a life, trials and tribulations too many - some doozies.
Cleaning out some things in a basement I came across the photo I posted last week from the summer of '84 in Cape Cod.
My sisters came up from Texas, my brother and his wife were there with their 1st two children. Dad and stepmom from Maryland probably Maryland or Dallas. Some cousins from Ohio.
I don't remember any of it; not the restaurant, not the patio on the water, the weather, the long drive.
Assuming the month and the year I was living with Grandma about to start college again.
Again because my mother finally told me that in my parent's divorce Dad was obligated to pay for school until the age of 25 for the 4 of us.
Trade school had been okay because it only lasted a year but I didn't understand why I was being pushed to attend college, I hadn't decided what to be when I grew up.
The old photos help us remember, a visual record. I had to pick my big sister's mind to put the pieces together, she remembers everything. I mean, in general she has a great memory. Even after she told me who was there and why I had to take her word for it.
For some reason I just blanked on the entire event. In hindsight I'm guessing it had to do with my stepmom being there.
If I had another chance I would have kept an Instamatic with me at all times.
So I could recall the gravity of an experience before it becomes a memory. Because it only becomes something substantial in hindsight.
Cleaning out some things in a basement I came across the photo I posted last week from the summer of '84 in Cape Cod.
My sisters came up from Texas, my brother and his wife were there with their 1st two children. Dad and stepmom from Maryland probably Maryland or Dallas. Some cousins from Ohio.
I don't remember any of it; not the restaurant, not the patio on the water, the weather, the long drive.
Assuming the month and the year I was living with Grandma about to start college again.
Again because my mother finally told me that in my parent's divorce Dad was obligated to pay for school until the age of 25 for the 4 of us.
Trade school had been okay because it only lasted a year but I didn't understand why I was being pushed to attend college, I hadn't decided what to be when I grew up.
The old photos help us remember, a visual record. I had to pick my big sister's mind to put the pieces together, she remembers everything. I mean, in general she has a great memory. Even after she told me who was there and why I had to take her word for it.
For some reason I just blanked on the entire event. In hindsight I'm guessing it had to do with my stepmom being there.
If I had another chance I would have kept an Instamatic with me at all times.
So I could recall the gravity of an experience before it becomes a memory. Because it only becomes something substantial in hindsight.