Missing FriendsWhile I was writing the posts for our January trip, I started getting anxious to finish it so that I’d have time to write about more current things. Having gotten in the habit of photographing places we went I’d begun photographing our local haunts as well. Well, “begun” isn’t totally accurate. I’d been taking the little Olympus with me on various outings before
So now I’m debating whether to write about the most current thing we’ve been up to or to keep the chronological order intact and try to write more than once a week so I can catch up.
Not that anyone out there necessarily cares. I mean, you’re probably thinking, it isn’t really all that interesting either way, Tracie.
It’s true. Everyone does the things we do and they aren’t writing about them. What makes me think anyone wants to read this stuff?
‘Don’t know. ‘Guess I just feel compelled by the letter writer in me who wants to come out and play. I’ve always liked writing letters and I’ve discovered that this blogging stuff makes for a good extension of that. (Woe to the poor reader who blunders upon this and expects real entertainment.)
You see, my excuse is that when I was younger my Mom and the two of us children lived in any given apartment, on average, for three years. Sometimes it was only a year. I guess it was never longer than three, so perhaps that’s not the average. (Math and I have never been chummy.) Anyway, I’d make a friend in my new neighborhood and in a year or two…or three, I’d get the news we were moving (no, we weren’t on the lamb). I didn’t usually mind because exploring new places was always exciting, and every time I hit a new school it was pretty much guaranteed there would be at least one other kid in my class who was also new—and was therefore a good “new friend” candidate, or at least a good first acquaintance target. I guess my way of adjusting to the loss, when I had to leave a particularly good friend, was to carry on letter and telephone communications, in order not to have to give them up entirely. In this way, they usually became even better friends because, as everyone knows, we are more inclined to share who we are with someone in a letter than in conversation. Maybe that isn’t actually a fact, but it was often my experience.
Obviously this was WAY before e-mail, and I didn’t write letters nearly as often as I do e-mails. For one thing, stamps and stationary aren’t so easy to come by on the meager earnings of household chore wages. For another, there wasn’t allot of time for writing: Yeah, homework. But more importantly, there were all those companions who required my presence to get them through their daily challenges—Such companions as Master/Major Anthony Nelson (Tony) and Jeanie (1965-1970); Tim and Uncle Martin (1963-1966); Sister Bertrille, Carlos and the Reverend Mother Superior (1967-1970); Mr. Ed and Wilbur (1961- 1966); Oliver and Lisa (1965-1971) Samantha, Darin, Tabitha, Uncle Arthur, Larry, and Endora (1964-1972); Eddie, Tom and Mrs. Livingston (1969-1972); Lucy, Ricky, Fred and Ethel (1951-1957 clearly I was watching re-runs); Ann Marie and Donald (1966-1971); Honey West and Sam (1965-1966) Andy/Pa, Opie, Barney, and Aunt Bee (1960-1968); Lucas and Mark McCain (1958-1963--I guess these were re-runs too); Cain/Grasshopper and Master Po (1972-1975) …the list goes on and on. Yes, I admit it. I was a television junkie.
Some friends made better correspondents than others, but between telephones and the grand ol’ Post Master General keeping things flowing through rain, sleet, snow, etc. the moves tended not to interfere too much with my social life—and may actually have facilitated it. Living in a different location and doing different things with different people provided enough fodder to keep the silences short during and between correspondances.
One thing about all those frequent moves that I didn’t realize was that it removed me from the normal course most friendships take. Rarely was I exposed to the pain of having a best friend move on to a new best friend for any reason other than that I had moved out of the neighborhood, and this reason was, of course, totally forgivable—as long as they missed me and I could be sure that if I hadn’t moved we’d still hang out together—which I always was (Self-delusional even at 10) There was atime or two when I visited someone and their new friends seemed to take up more attention than I did, but I didn't dwell on it and just invited them to my house next time instead of going to theirs.
Sorry, this was about writing letters, not about my childhood. Wait! It wasn’t about writing. (Alzheimer’s? Already?......Sorry. I shouldn’t joke about that. And hopefully that WAS a joke.) It’s about the order in which to write about things.
I think I’ve decided on chronological order.
That would take us back to the L.A. Times Book Festival.
What do you mean “Boring?” It wasn’t boring. It was a great way to spend a Saturday afternoon. So interesting in fact that Don and I talked about next year maybe taking Friday and Monday off so we could attend the pre festival dinner, and stay at a hotel in L.A. in order to attend the festival both Saturday and Sunday without having to race back home through the heavy traffic Sunday night. Just wait till you see all the thrilling pictures of us waiting in line! You’ll see.
This is already long enough though so I think I’ll save that for the next post.
Thanks for “listening.”
