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An old family photo of me with my brothers, Reid and Zed. That is my mother in the background.
I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’ve been looking back through old blog posts lately. The main reason was because I have a very busy writing schedule for the next month or so doing some guest posts along with keeping up with my weekly posts here and my monthly newsletter. I thought going way back in time would bring up an interesting post or two that I could reblog. It would save me time and and the effort of coming up with new idea to write about.
Well, it kind of backfired. It’s been at least a year or two since I looked through those ancient posts. I’m in a very different place than I was when I wrote them and even when I last perused them. I believe that it has to do with aging and the changes occurring within and without my mind and body. I’ve become fascinated with the way I used to think and how the aging process brings about those changes.
One of those changes is my reaction to places I go to or have been to. A year or two ago I noticed that whenever I went to our local multiplex movie theater and walked through the doors, I felt as though I’m on another planet. The the high ceilings from which loud rock music bounces, and the larger than life posters advertising headache inducing, sci-fi, fantasy, shoot em up bang-bang, car chase, and dystopian themes are gut wrenching for me. And the game room off to the side often exudes the sound of gun violence, making it even worse. Even when I go to see something quiet and dramatic or funny, the million trailer’s they show are for movies I’d never go to see in a million years.The turned up volume of those trailers has forced me to remove my hearing aids and plug my ears with my fingers. When I go there now to catch a flick that is not playing elsewhere, I feel that if this is my beloved, blue planet, Earth, then I’d best be getting off as soon as possible. Needless to say I don’t go there often.
Fortunately, we have a much smaller multiplex theater with large, comfortable, cushioned seats, and much smaller viewing rooms. Some have only six rows, seating as few as thirty people. And all of the smaller rooms have wonderful recliners where you can put your feet up, lean back, and be really comfy. Fortunately, I have not yet fallen asleep in them. You can also order a salad, pizza, beer, or wine to take in with you. Along with a few noisy, pop culture films, they show a great selection of independent and foreign films which are my cup of tea. They show only a few trailers and they are similar in nature to the film I’ve come to see, and though a tad louder than the feature film the sound level is manageable for me.
I’ve found that journeying into past blog posts isn’t saving me any time at all. I get all caught up in what I wrote ten years ago and what it all meant at the time. Then I think about what more I can add from a different perspective. It’s huge fun and I’m delighting in learning more about myself and where I’ve been and where I am now. I will continue to revisit old posts from time to time and share my observations with you.
I suddenly understand what the older folks in my young life used to tell me, when they said, “I don’t understand this younger generation. I’m too old for this stuff.”
Just finished reading your amazing book, Joan. I wish your mother would turn around.
Thanks so much, Marian. Yes, that photo represents how it was at times. There were times when she could turn around and be with me, but she carried too much pain with her to be there fully present.
Joan — Having read your wonderful book, SCATTERING ASHES, the photo you shared in today’s post — with your mother’s back to her children — hits the bullseye swift and sure.
Yes, Laurie, it does. I didn’t really see that until I published it this morning and boom, there it was.
Amazing, that was my first reaction when I saw the photo..why is your mother turned away from her beautiful children? Your powerful memoir explains.
Kathy, It is quite telling that that is the first thing people notice. At the time we were living on Long Island and were on fall road trip to New England. Those trips were often difficult.
Good mornng, Joan. I’m glad to know your reaction to these gigantic megaplexes for I share your disdain. I’m finding that I get the same sense of overstimulation when I spend more than 20 minutes in a typical mall. As for the photo, I was also struck by the pose the camera caught: your mother’s back, but also your familiar smile.
Thank you, Janet. I don’t feel so alone. When I tell much younger friends about my disdain, they look at me as if I’m daft. But they’ll get it one day, as their hair turns silver and they look back wondering why they used to indulge themselves with such nonsense. 🙂
Joan, I suggest you start your book talk with a blow up of this picture and get your audience engaged with what they see and how they react. Soon they will be so enchanted by the work of understanding two complex characters–your mother and you–that they will just have to buy the book!
I did the same thing you did today–looked hard at an old photo and found something new. Thrilling, isn’t it?
Wow, Shirley, What an Idea! Thanks! I’ll have to think on that one.
Blessings to you on your new adventure. I hope it will be a wonderful one!