At work I have a number of photographs on my desk: My son, Tom, my mother with one of her great grandchildren, and Charlie, just a month before he died. Sometimes, when I am feeling a little lost, lonely or even bored I stare at the faces of those people who mean so much to me. I love the picture of my mother talking to her great grandson. I can tell by the shape of her mouth that she is saying something and the little fellow, just a baby, seems to be looking at her. And so I assume she was talking to him as the picture was taken. That photo reminds me where I acquired my love of children. My mother has always been so excellent in her care of small infants. The photograph of Tom is from our wedding day. He was standing with the magistrate waiting to receive me, and had such a welcoming smile on his face.
I think I have always loved photographs. Perhaps they are reminders that I am not alone. In each picture there are cherished memories, long stories, and interesting tales. In another frame on my office wall I have created a collage of pictures taken of all sorts of staff and children from the Child Care Center where I was once Director. There is a photograph of me holding a small child. Today, the Chair of our Department stopped by and asked about the child in the picture. All of a sudden I was telling a long story about the little girl and her father. He smiled. "Oh dear," I apologized, "Just from one photo!" "Oh, I love your stories," he said, and was about to ask about another photograph when another colleague stopped by.
I wonder if I ramble on and on lately about past stories. If someone expresses an interest I tell every detail. At times I notice their eyes glazing over. I think it has something to do with getting older. Each time I tell a tale of times gone by, I seem to reinforce the memory for myself. We can always take out photographs to stare at. I just do not want to lose sight of any one of my memories, good or bad.
For each and every one of them makes up the emotional collage that is me.
I wonder if hearing John Prine's song, Hello in There, on the way to work today, had me thinking about these things ...
Hello In There
©John Prine
We had an apartment in the city,
Me and Loretta liked living there.
Well, it'd been years since the kids had grown,
A life of their own left us alone.
John and Linda live in Omaha,
And Joe is somewhere on the road.
We lost Davy in the Korean war,
And I still don't know what for, don't matter anymore.Chorus:
Ya' know that old trees just grow stronger,
And old rivers grow wilder ev'ry day.
Old people just grow lonesome
Waiting for someone to say, "Hello in there, hello."Me and Loretta, we don't talk much more,
She sits and stares through the back door screen.
And all the news just repeats itself
Like some forgotten dream that we've both seen.
Someday I'll go and call up Rudy,
We worked together at the factory.
But what could I say if asks "What's new?"
"Nothing, what's with you? Nothing much to do."
A year ago at Tamarika: Moving from place to place
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