The Weight of Words

The box of memories, like hope, dutifully followed her over the decades from dwelling to dwelling:
     From I street to Park street;
     From Park street to Fairview;
     From Fairview to Nebraska street;
     From Nebraska street to Hal Muldrow Drive.

The box grew heavier year by year, memories blurred, and she wondered how words and sentences of thoughts, ideas, dreams, nightmares, fears, truths and lies could become so heavy to carry.

"The butterfly counts not the months but the
 moments and has time enough. " Tagore 

(note found in journals) 

Once when the box filled, she thoughtfully found a bigger heavier box for the words and sentences of happiness, disappointments, heartaches, joys, frustrations, love, and pure delight in life.  The sturdy box continued to follow her, like a shadow needing a home, as it traveled:
     From Hal Muldrow Drive to Canterbury;
     From Canterbury to Baltic Avenue;
     From Baltic Avenue to Quivira Drive.

Stashed in a far corner of closet the box seemed all but forgotten. Her words continued to tell stories from her heart, ask questions, retell moments with an author's chosen words, decode feelings, describe travels and dreams. Seeking help and understanding from the words she wrote, she drew, she cut and pasted uplifting quotes, pictures and art work that told her stories. 

"The flower looks up high to see the light

and never looks down to see it's shadow." 

(note in her journals) 

One last time that brown corrugated box lined with memories and filled with journals traveled from Quivira Drive to Guilford, where it sat on a shelf never quite out of sight. The brown box sat like an tree stump on the shelves of the curio closet among the puppets, artwork, books, and pictures. Once she thought to decorate the box creating a collage of her life, her family, friends, and travels. That began the argument in her head, why decorate it, why keep it?

Spring came along with a terrifying virus that forced her to think deeply about life and death. The box was a burden she no longer needed. One day while carefully balanced on the ladder, she tilted the box toward the floor, and let years of journals tumble down, then she slowly removed the box from the shelf. In her head she heard the joyous lyrics, "Let it go, let it go, can't hold it back anymore..."

Now it was the corrugated elephant in the room, she could no longer hide it nor avoid it. 

The guidelines were created.
  No rereading. 
  No reliving. 
  Glance only. 
  Acknowledge.
  Tear and trash. 

She cheated a few times. Took notes from travels they had taken, scribbled a few dates and memorable moments that made her laugh again and whispered "Yes."

With each trip to the trash bin she felt her shoulders ease until at last fifty years of journals were gone. She stood alone in the back yard smiling as the birds chirped at the feeders, the doves cooed and the Cardinals squabbled. Her thoughts spread in a smile across her face. 

"Our lives become rich

without baggage from the past."

(note found in her journals)

*Dedicated to my sister Jonya, who said about her journals, "I do not need to read them. I have already lived that life!"

Other posts by Literally Letty with similar themes:

The Address Book

And Her Monkey Named, Woo.

200+ But Who's Counting?

First, I want to Thank You Dear Readers wherever you live on this planet. Without you my words have no meaning, no life. You are the ones who give breath to these printed words.

And yes, I'm counting and examining the two hundred plus blogs I've written since 2010. I want to see if I've become a better writer; to see what I have learned; to reread and reflect; and to look ahead. Searching through the archives on the right side of the screen I realized that my heart is as random as my head. Many of my blogs, like books in a library, touch our hearts or challenge us, but some ought to be discarded. 

Like birds randomly dropping seeds, my finger slipped on the computer screen, as I searched the archives, and I opened Anna's Angel.  I've moved since I wrote that story, but Anna's Angel still has a place over my grandmother's antique secretary desk. 

With my 50th class reunion still fresh on my mind, I searched through the Miami Memories and found two stories that touched me deeply.  One November I spent several days calling my classmates, listening to their voices, their stories

of laughter and sorrow.  Those Moments that Connect reminded me of my January promise: This year my goal is simple but sincere.  Pick up the phone and call a friend once a week. A phone call connects us to the heart of the person, much like using a puppet to communicate.Goals from the Heart

Another Miami Memory shows the depth of sadness in our family in the one week when our President JFK

Aunt Sissie and grandma

was assassinated and my grandmother died in her sleep. Moments in Time.  

Sonya, Jan, and Jeannette

The tremendous impact of reading on my life can't be measured, and I can always find a moment to tell someone about a good book, relate a story about a story, or sit down and visit a new world created by an author's imagination. There are many Readings and Greetings in the last five years of my blog, but perhaps the list and reflection of our Book Club in Hutchinson tells it best.   It is like Edmund Burke says, "Reading without reflecting is like eating without digesting." 
Book Club Celebrates Ten Years

Looking back I can find  stories begging to be told in the oral tradition of  storytelling.  That is, after all, how this

 all began. It is how families stayed connected, and it is how I have reconnected with my family on my mother's and father's side.  Thanks to my grandmother's collection of postcards  about the Clendening family, we now have a thorough shared genealogy file: Consumed by a Story. Through another family post Along the Lonesome Trail, I have met and talked with long lost family members. What memorable moments these stories have given us, one hundred and fifty years later. 

Glancing back to 2010 and 2011 I see what I so dearly miss--those early morning country walks with Lucy. I'm so glad I wrote about those memories, as brief as they might be. They give me reasons to laugh and chuckle at life. I'd forgotten about that little skunk, who's dance captured my heart

 Dancing in the Breeze.  One day a squirrel, in an attempt to out run a horse, instead ran up my leg. Lucy to the rescue still shows the scar of the squirrel on her nose.Walking Pell Mell  I still laugh every time of think of some of these moments. 

What have I learned?  Thanks to comments by my readers, I've learned to increase the size of my font. When our stories connect to the heart  then people relate and feel connected. I've met many new friends and fellow writers online, each with a distinct voice and vision. Their diverse styles, formats, and purposes for writing inspire me and encourage me to continue. 

In the future, I'd like to write more about other people's lives,

walk closer to nature, and continue to explore every aspect that life offers us.

There will always be change, as long as we are still learning. My very first blog, one paragraph long, begins with change and adaption. As difficult as computer programs have been for me to learn, I'm thankful that I have the opportunity to grow and stay connected to the world. Thank you Rosemary Miller for showing me this path. The last lines from my first paragraph reads: Practice, repeat, and continue. So this blog will be a study of learning, living, laughing, and loving life with Letty.

NYC December 2015

Speaking From the Heart--Roy's Words

Jan Crockett Smith, Sue Seamon Mead and
 Marsha Payton Rickel

Three years of planning and hard work by the hands and heads of many classmates have finally come to fruition. I, too, have spent time helping and reflecting on what those years meant in our lives. Even though my stories are universal, they are still told from my point of view.  In our class there are at least two hundred points of view, when looking back at those twelve adventurous years of school. Perhaps another set of eyes can tell the story, that I couldn't.  

One classmate, Roy Underwood,  recently reflected on

Richard, Karen, Donna, Bill, Roy

those memories, those emotions brought on by the meetings that have been held to organize and shore up our reunion.  Here are Roy's words spoken from his heart.

Greetings 1965 MHS classmates.
We are a few days away from our 50th reunion, can you really believe it? I am speaking only for myself at this writing, not the committee. Nor am I the wordsmith like some of my classmates. I have been known and accused of being brutally honest, called many names, most not so kind, and probably deserved such. However, as we near our 50th reunion, I wish to share my thoughts. Agree or disagree, it matters not to me. This is my story of how it began.

Tony Palmer, ? Roy Underwood

It has been one hell of a ride, sometimes smooth, sometimes rough--disagreements, untold hours of personal time, and difficult decisions had to be made along the road to now.

It began more than five years ago with two people, then three.  I was living in Ohio at the time. I personally missed two previous reunions due to distance and my employment. I moved back to Oklahoma City after my retirement in 2009. The seeds of our current reunion began with Richard Spencer and Karen Atkinson Yoxall.  I was invited to assist. Richard and I began having lunch meetings in Shawnee, Okla. We had not seen each other since 1965, but we hugged and for me, the years melted away.

Randy Loehr, Linda McNatt Henbest, Donna Collins Edmondson, Jan Crockett Smith 

Meetings were planned, the very first was held in Miami @ the Pizza Hut, with more than 48 classmates attending. We

thought, wow, this is going to be easy, not so! As the weeks and months progressed, we learned it was not going to be so easy. I cannot count how many meetings we have had. You were informed and invited. The attendance, over the years has fluctuated. Many have asked, who is paying for these meetings, the food and drinks etc. The total cost of travel, food etc., came from our pockets, some locations were donated. Weekly breakfast meetings were begun here in Miami at local restaurants. All in all they have been very successful. Classmates traveled to join us from different locations in state and out of state.

Jackie Trask

It has been a time to renew friendships and establish new ones; a time of sharing our life's success, failures and loss. No more petty BS of our years at MHS, no more clicks or ill feelings. Just people, we shared a point in time of our personal history. For me, I deeply cherish each and every moment you have chosen to share with me. I would come from those meetings, feeling energized, happy and at times guilty for having absorbed such wonderful emotions from my classmates!

Wednesday morning meetings class of 65. 

Many have worked years, weeks, months and hours to make this the best reunion ever. You may not like portions of it or any of it. For me, I don't care for some events, but you know, it will be what I make of it, I choose to make it all a positive event. Like many, our lives have taken many roads, some very successful, some not. We have all known happiness, horrible pain and loss, some of our own making. People have hurt us, in turn we have hurt others, and usually those we loved the most. Many of our classmates have suffered such loss, and they will be in attendance. I want them to feel welcome; rich, poor, successful or not. If I act superior, judge them, or not interact with them, I am the one who will experience a personal loss for not allowing them in, it will make me less and cheat me out of allowing them to enrich my life. My thoughts are mine alone. A heart felt THANK YOU, for your support, time and money to help make this one of the best reunions ever. A personal thank you classmates who have enriched my life over these past few years, by you being you!! Hope to see you in a few days. Blessings to all!

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Miami High School,  Circa 1959, the Ted Watts collection