tedwords

For some reason, goofy Thanksgiving hats were all the rage this year...

"Gratitude is when memory is stored in the heart and not in the mind." Lionel Hampton

The third Thursday in November means Thanksgiving, of course, and for the third year in a row, Corb and I hosted for the family--this time, for his and mine, which meant 16 seats around the table (on the plus side, it was at one point supposed to be 26, so thank heavens for people dropping out).

This was actually supposed to be Tommy's turn to host, his first since the Thanksgiving from hell, but Lisa and Tommy sold their house a few months ago and moved to a condo, and "would you mind taking over? We'll help as much as we can!" Which, fine.

This was also Greg's first time at Thanksgiving since his move back (some of you may have read my story about his return home a few months back), and while I was worried that there may be some drama, everything turned out just fine. He does have drama in his life--apparently, he didn't like the job his mom found for him and quit three hours into his first day--but he kept quiet about that on Thanksgiving.

If there was any drama to be found during this drama-free Thanksgiving, it might be found in my mom's worsening memory problems. Not everyone noticed, I think, but there were a few instances of confusion that Corb and I found worrisome--Mom forgot what she cooked for Thanksgiving for us, for example (which was really only a broccoli and cheese casserole; dad bought a pumpkin pie at the store for us) and was insisting she also made deviled eggs, even though Corb had been in charge of that (I saw him pipe them). She also insisted that Corb and I ordered pizza for Christmas eve every year, which is something we've never done (they live too far away for that to be practical).

Dad is a hero for keeping things together, and it must be difficult. She has taken it to blaming these little lapses on chemo brain, and perhaps she is right. I don't want to think it's anything worse.

Speaking of memory, one of the hits of the day was my journal, of all things. No, not my Live Journal. But as so many of us here have done, I suspect, my journal was for many years a paper one, dating back to when I was 14 years old (August 16, 1979). It was right before I entered high school, and I think I was nervous about starting band camp. Stress can be a powerful motivator.

What's interesting about my journal, I think, is that for many years, I wrote it in the third person, as an observer of events. Now mind you, I'm not sure there's anything particularly interesting to observe at first (one entry starts with "Diane doesn't like pears, so Kerrie and Michelle exclude her from them."), unless you read between the lines, but it did make for an entertaining way to pass the time 40 years later, since it was not about me, but observations about my sisters or brother, or my mother and father. People love hearing themselves mentioned. And also, have little memory of what actually occurred. That means I win history. Yeah!

Tommy asked if I could send him weekly updates on what is in my journal. Not sure I want to do that, but will consider it.

But it does make me wonder what to do with all the journals I have lying around. I wrote that journal (which I dramatically called a "Saga") every day until 1986 (and gradually switched from the third to first person), at which point, on one horrible summer afternoon, Josie snuck into my bedroom (we were dating at the time) and read it without my permission, and discovered I was in love with Steven. A huge fight ensued, we broke up for a few weeks, patched things up, and I stopped writing. I wrote on and off again through the years, in various notepads (including my trip to Edinburgh with Viola), but nothing was as consistent until I started writing Live Journal in 2002. And at the point, the journal focused more on the break-up of my marriage to Josie, accepting myself and finding Corb (and I guess in some ways, reconciling with Steve, bring everything full circle).

Also, an obvious observation: Ted journals better while gay.

Would it make sense to compile all this into one larger document? Would that even be a worthwhile task? Who would it be for? The first journal is eight years of steady entries, followed by 16 years of sporadic writing, followed by twenty years of rather consistent writing). Would it be good to pull that all together? For me, journal writing has always been a source of creativity, and I am right now very much looking for that next creative challenge. So perhaps by going down that road, I will jump start whatever that next big project is.

Perhaps I should keep it phrased as it is, "Diane doesn't like pears, so Kerrie and Michelle exclude her from them" and all. That can show how the mind develops, how one's ability to express oneself, evolves over time. I don't, I kind of like it.

Sometimes, revisiting the past can serve as fuel for the creative future.