Yesterday was yet another day filled with memories as I finally emptied the attic.
Hooley dooley, the stuff I’d squirreled away! Every birthday card I’d ever received, every newspaper article I’d ever written, stickers I’d collected as a child, my HSC exam papers, love letters …
It was unsettling to read the cards from Husband professing his undying love. It was equally unsettling to read the cards I’d written to him, expressing the same sentiments. We were crazy about each other once. I wondered briefly when we lost that spark, then tossed it into the too-hard basket.
Oddly, it was more confronting to read the correspondence from my friends. I began to mourn how much communication has changed in the past few decades.
There were boxes and boxes of postcards and thank you notes and letters. They were so lovely and personal, filled with kind words and love. No one writes these days. And if they do it’s a brief note on Facebook or a 140-character tweet or an Instagram to the world. None of that intimate one-to-one stuff.
Most friends who wrote that correspondence are still part of my life, but many are no longer close. I think marriage and kids tend to do that. But reading their words filled me with resolve to reconnect with the people I knew so intimately so long ago.
And then I took a deep breathe and chucked most of it. Ain’t nobody got room for that when they’re divorce downsizing.
Song of the day: Joni Mitchell “Big Yellow Taxi”