Until this morning I didn’t remember much about Sunday, December 10, 1978. I probably wrote about it in my journal — almost certainly — but I’m not sure where that journal is.
Among the many many papers and other memorabilia I found in boxes from my mom’s house was a flier from Leeds Playhouse about Luis Buñuel’s film, That Obscure Object of Desire. I was staying with Jeremy’s family near Leeds, England before heading to London to do some student teaching and Jeremy had a part-time job at Leeds Playhouse.
I’d not seen too many foreign films, and none as unusual as this one. It stayed with me for years and I know I shared it with at least one other person.
I wonder what I’d think of it now.
And — all this time I thought he had an R in his name. I was calling him Brunuel.
My mom went to school with Jackie and remained friends with her for the rest of her life. Jackie had a daughter named Stephanie who was not much older than me. Maybe 2 or three years. We played together when we were young, then Stephanie moved to California. We sporadically kept in touch through letters. Dean and I drove to San Diego the summer we spent in Los Angeles and had dinner at a Mexican restaurant with Stephanie and her partner at the time, and maybe her son. More recently Stephanie and her husband visited us here in Bethesda and we spent some time visiting with her in LA one afternoon. Even more recently we’ve kept in touch on Facebook and through texts.
When my mom died and I helped clear out her house I came across Stephanie’s mom and dad’s wedding portrait. I texted a photo of it to Stephanie and asked if she was interested in it. She said she was so I put it in the pile of things to take home so I could mail it to her.
Once I got home I went through every box I’d brought from my mom’s house and couldn’t find it anywhere; I assumed I’d not packed it after all. I asked my brother to check to see if he could find it when he was in the house. No luck. I asked the estate sales people if they came across it. No luck. I told Stephanie the bad news and I could tell that she was disappointed, but said it was okay.
Fast forward 7 years to yesterday afternoon. I’d previously thought I’d emptied all the boxes of “Mom’s stuff” that I’d hidden under the guest bed, but found one last box yesterday. I pulled letters, photos, newspaper articles and drawings out of the box and found a legal sized envelope on the bottom that contained more photos and a cardboard folder with the logo of a long-gone Elgin photography studio on the front. Inside was the wedding photo of Stephanie’s parents. It’s soon to be on its way to her house.
In addition to that photo, I am also inclosing a 1959 Christmas card with a photo of young Stephanie on the front and a note from Jackie on the back. In it she mentions that Stephanie had been talking about me often. They’d moved to San Diego at some point that year, I think.
Stephanie lost her mother in the past year or two, and her father’s been gone a while. I feel like something has come full-circle — me sending Stephanie the photos and note (and writing a note, although mine is typed and not in green ink).
I’ve just come across two framed shrines that meant something to me in my younger years. One I put together, one was put together by my mom.
The first is a collection of a photo, a pen and ink drawing and some pressed flowers. I made it while I was dating an Englishman. The photo is of Jeremy as a toddler. The drawing was made between the time we met in Elgin (March 1974) and the time I visited England (June 1974). It depicts a tree on a lakeshore beside a stone circle. I’m not sure about the flowers — the one below the photo was something special from Jeremy’s father’s garden — an alpine plant of some sort. The two on the other side — one looks like a pansy and the other might be a bluebell.
The second framed shrine was given to me my my mom after they cut down my climbing apple tree. It was probably a Christmas present long after I’d moved out. I was very much attached to that tree. I named it Charlie after a neither asked if it was a Jonathan. I spent many summer days in the tree, often writing in my journal, always gathering strength. It’s no wonder I had my high school graduation photo taken with Charlie — it was truly a part of me.
Clutch Cargo Lips 