I'm on my way home from my 50th high school reunion. It was a bittersweet weekend. For the first time, we looked old--maybe because we finally are. At the memorial service on Sunday, as 97 names were read aloud, 97 candles sprang to light as we remembered those no longer with us. It was, indeed, our last hurrah.
Did I bring any story ideas home with me? If I read the book of our individual historys, I could come up with a million ideas. Of course, I'd never do it. Our stories are too personal. We've shared those stories, but they're a testimony to survival, not to be spun into fiction, however good.
I promised the small person I'd bring some bluebonnet seeds. Her new favorite book seems to be Tomie de Paola's The Legend of the Bluebonnet. I read it to her, expecting it to be too advanced for her, but now she takes it from the bookshelf and brings it to me each time she's with me. She is most distressed that it is against the law to stop and pick bluebonnets along with highway (not that there are any in Arkansas!), so we will attempt to grow a pot of them. She says she will pick "just one".
This morning I'm headed to the town where I went to college. On Wednesday I'll go home to retrieve a disgruntled beast from the Doggie Dungeon and take up my daily routine again. Daily routine is good for the soul. And it was good for my soul to greet and hug so many of my former classmates. In some ways, it was a reconciliation experience, and we all needed that. When one carries around the garbage from the past too long, it becomes not only heavy but odorous.
So--will I eventually spin a story based on this past weekend? Maybe someday. November 1 and NaNoWriMo loom on the horizon. Meanwhile, I'll process everything that happened at the reunion--and things that didn't happen--and someday...yes, someday...