I was just thinking about the way your parents (or at least mine) will measure your height in pencil on a wall as you grow. My dad did that on my bedroom wall, I can’t recall exactly where. He would measure each of us and make a tick mark in pencil. The funny part is, this is the first time I thought about it in no less than 10 years. My mind just raced back to my childhood bedroom with its peach walls and bunk beds (mine was the top). Then I realised, that image in my head is gone completely. It’s been changed, repainted, that little shred of my history is gone. I shouldn’t feel angry about it but I think one always feels a speck of anger when pieces of one’s history are excavated and destroyed without one’s knowledge and/or permission. If you haven’t noticed yet, I am sentimental person. As I get older, I realise it’s not so much the THINGS that equal your memories but it is nice to know your history and it’s evidence remain. When it’s removed without your being asked, it stings a little bit. Maybe I am just odd. I don’t know. I know in my heart of hearts that what keeps your history thriving in all of its former glory is storytelling and sharing. It doesn’t matter who landed the credenza or who was left the car or who has so and so’s ashes. Those things don’t tell the story. They may provide visual aid for your memory but they aren’t and won’t ever be the thing that lives inside you that is so irreplaceable. I couldn’t give a shit who gets my grandmother’s good silverware (which, by the way, isn’t me) but for some reason, I’m clinging to a wall that’s been repainted- a room that’s been taken a part (literally) and is no longer IN ANYWAY, SHAPE, OR FORM, mine. Go figure. Anyway, that was my big head-trip for the morning. I will go drink more coffee now. This weekend I get to see my two favorite kids on the whole planet. Maybe they’ll let me measure them against a wall. I always measure them against ME, My Madi is chest-height at 6 years old. She’ll be taller than me by July and Cooper James, the sweetest boy to ever live, is approximately elbow-height. These things matter more to me than any wall I can’t look at ever again. I guess I have come to my own conclusions here, yes? Go me!
