Friday, September 22, 2006

Woolgathering.

That's my activity for this evening.

I am being visited by ghosts from the past. There would be more, but the box containing some old recordings I'd like to be listening to right now is, if I'm lucky, somewhere on its journey back to me.

Those tapes, which a friend has transferred to CDs, mean a lot. They remind me of glorious days. Some were made before I was born, though I knew and revered the man who made them, and once had a chance to play the same instrument on which they were made. Others were the result of my own collaboration with the same man, a brilliant musician who lost none of his skill with age.

But never mind that.

Like Joe Gillis, floating in Norma Desmond's pool in Sunset Boulevard, I find myself, more and more often, telling my story in past tense. That is, I assure you, involuntary. I would like to believe that more achievements -- and more happiness -- lie ahead. But I see few signs of it.

Not that all my memories of the past have to do with music. I'm thinking about a warm day in the East, when I shared an outdoor shower with a lovely lady. We had lots of soapy fun before heading off to enjoy burgers and beer.

And I remember a visit to a bar in NYC's Grand Central Station with the same lady. We got pleasantly buzzed on martinis before riding the commuter train back to her place...as I recall, we saw fireflies that night....

And I remember a day when another woman told me she loved me, and could not imagine life without me.

And I remember a day when I was lionized for an article I wrote. On that same day, a check arrived, for a sum that more than compensated me for the time and effort I had put in.

And I remember a day when a magazine I created and edited received fulsome praise.

And I remember the day when a beautiful, talented woman (the one who could not imagine her life without me) told me she wanted to marry me.

All these memories have one thing in common: they are memories, the remnants of promises and dreams unfulfilled.

That is why I feel more comfortable in the past than the in the present. I can see my mistakes, but I can also see that I had hope.

If I choose to look at the good moments, I must look backwards.

So I look into the past, when there were still possibilities and dreams.

And I look to tomorrow with dread.

7 comments:

Anonymous said...

Strange how a person's mind works. When I wake up in the morning I think of those who are gone a long time back. Yet somehow it gives me comfort. Hugs
Roz

Birdie said...

fireflies.... oooops... sorry *wink* I didn't mean to be a mzingjy heehee
(JS insiders may know what I mean)

MrScribbler said...

Not sure what kind of kllnrf you're talking about, birdie, but these were real, gen-you-wine official fireflies....

Birdie said...

well, you DID read my Shotgun story, didn't you? heehee some real, gen-you-wine fireflies inspired me to write that chhegah...

Anonymous said...

Those are mighty nice memories, MrScribbler. But I read in Juni's entry that "Everything here is created to leave, at some point." It really helped me to get things settled and into perspective. ((hugs)) from Sunny

melzboi85 said...

youre lucky to have such memories. i'm so forgetful i probably won't remember the tasty cheeseburger I devoured today tomorrow. ehh.

btw: this is melzboi85. I dont know how to comment with my name showing lol

MrScribbler said...

Your name showed, melzboi...whatever you did worked!