writing for self-discovery

Thanksgiving morning dawned, hot, muggy, and slightly overcast.

There was no planned outing with friends to a local restaurant for roasted stuffed turkey with all the trimmings. Such gatherings are discouraged for now, and to actually find a restaurant open, and not only open but serving turkey which is outrageously expensive to buy here…well…it just wasn’t going to happen.

I awoke with reasonably good intentions of accomplishing something, but a goal as fuzzy as that rarely gets much traction.

So I napped and read, read and napped, and thought about Thanksgivings past.

The table was set for ten or twelve. Before Dad said grace, and before digging into moist slices of turkey, candied sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, cranberry sauce, and stuffing with gravy, we took turns telling what we were grateful for.

Between snoozes and the interesting story I was sort of reading, I rehearsed my current litany of blessings, see-sawing between past memories and present realities when suddenly… I had an overwhelming urge to sort through files. Trust me, this never happens. I knew I had to act and act fast or the notion would pass.

Soon the floor around me was littered with stacks of ‘keepers’ and ‘dumps.’

And then…

There it was. The packet of old photos Mom sent home with me when she was divesting herself of a lifetime of family history kept in picture albums. I’d never bothered to open it.

Oh, my! Ms. Bouffant 1969.

I was 19. How did I even get my hair to do that? I probably slept on giant brush rollers all night, then teased the curls into rats’ nests, smoothed the top and spray-lacquered it to the consistency of a bike helmet with Superhold Aqua Net. Remember Aqua Net? Superhold was purple.

I came across other shots equally as humiliating, but my pride will only allow one at a time.

As it happened, I actually accomplished quite a lot in spite of my very slow start. Eleven fat folders became four skinny ones. I found poems I’d forgotten I’d written and old diaries that jogged more memories.

So I wasn’t really alone for Thanksgiving. Old ghosts came back to remind me how truly grateful I am NOT to be living in the past. No matter how tough this Covid year has been, and no matter how uncertain the future seems at the moment, helmet hair and Aqua Net are forever behind me and that’s worth celebrating!