skip to main |
skip to sidebar
This happened once before - years ago when we were vacationing in the Adirondacks. I had signed up for a class in birch bark art. At cocktail time I ran into the teacher who said, "Why weren't you in class today?" "Oh, I'm signed up for the Wednesday class." "Today is Wednesday." I had entered into the fullness of vacation mode.
I posted a blog yesterday, thinking it was Thursday. That doesn't mean I have Early Onset Altzheimers does it? Tell me it doesn't.
I just finished reading "Still Alice" by Lisa Genova. The book is a fictional, but realistic account of a 50-year-old Harvard psychology professor losing her memory. I couldn't put it down, wondering if I was reading about my future. Now every time I walk into a room and say, "What did I come in here for?" I think of Alice in the novel. Fortunately this hasn't yet happened to me in a bathroom stall.
I'm just enjoying the dog days of summer.
When I started playing organ in high school it was a thrill to see my name in the church bulletin. "Diane Lewis, Organist" I fingered the bulletin admiring my name in print. The page said I was An Organist and so I must be one.
Now my thrill is tossing words up on the screen. The font is Arial and each little p d q looks perfect. Orange headlines herald Important Topics Everyone Wants To Read. Official. Published.
But things are turning full circle.
Today I thought of handwriting's intimacy - more precious now that it's rare. Visual imprints of dear ones from far away. Casual words. Easy to take for granted.
My teachers' handwriting. Mary Stanton's red G # scrawled on the Chopin score. The assignment book with detailed instructions from David Almond. Jeffrey's neat rune print. Attentive letters from Alex. Christmas cards from Marilyn signed "Blessings" or "As always" saved in a shoe box.
