In a few days I'll be heading out on a major trip,
a life-time, bucket list kind of trip. As I was walking this morning I was working through mixed feelings. Excitement about the upcoming trip mingled with a sadness that I travel alone.
I long ago decided that I had two choices, to sit home and wait for a companion to share my life with, or to get on with my life, companion or not. I don't want to get to the end of my days regretting what I haven't done, filled with should haves and could haves.
a life-time, bucket list kind of trip. As I was walking this morning I was working through mixed feelings. Excitement about the upcoming trip mingled with a sadness that I travel alone.
I long ago decided that I had two choices, to sit home and wait for a companion to share my life with, or to get on with my life, companion or not. I don't want to get to the end of my days regretting what I haven't done, filled with should haves and could haves.
Part of my walk took me past past the neighborhood's poetry fence, maintained by a lovely woman. The fence is covered with poems and artwork, Along the fence is a poetry mailbox, filled the poems. People passing by are invited to take a poem.
This is the poem I drew:
Negative Space by Ron Koertge
My dad taught me to pack: lay out everything. Put back half. Roll things
that roll. Wrinkle-prone things on top of cotton things. Then pants, waist-
to-hem. Nooks and crannies for socks. Belts around the sides like snakes.
Plastic over that. Add shoes. Wear heavy stuff on the plane.
We started when I was little. I’d roll up socks. Then he’d pretend to put me
in the suitcase, and we’d laugh. Some guys bond with their dads shooting
hoops or talking about Chevrolets. We did it over luggage.
By the time I was twelve, if he was busy, I’d pack for him. Mom tried
but didn’t have the knack. He’d get somewhere, open his suitcase and text
me—”Perfect.” That one word from him meant a lot.
The funeral was terrible—him laid out in that big carton and me crying
and thinking, Look at all that wasted space.
that roll. Wrinkle-prone things on top of cotton things. Then pants, waist-
to-hem. Nooks and crannies for socks. Belts around the sides like snakes.
Plastic over that. Add shoes. Wear heavy stuff on the plane.
We started when I was little. I’d roll up socks. Then he’d pretend to put me
in the suitcase, and we’d laugh. Some guys bond with their dads shooting
hoops or talking about Chevrolets. We did it over luggage.
By the time I was twelve, if he was busy, I’d pack for him. Mom tried
but didn’t have the knack. He’d get somewhere, open his suitcase and text
me—”Perfect.” That one word from him meant a lot.
The funeral was terrible—him laid out in that big carton and me crying
and thinking, Look at all that wasted space.
A
perfect piece, for the (packing) and travels I'm about to undertake.
And even more importantly, a message about wasting space, or as I take
it, wasting time.
Each of us has a limited amount of time, it's up to us to use that time as fully as possible.
Artwork & words by Terry Rowe, photography available at www.terryrowe.photography.
I am grateful for all of your comments and views.
Each of us has a limited amount of time, it's up to us to use that time as fully as possible.
Artwork & words by Terry Rowe, photography available at www.terryrowe.photography.
I am grateful for all of your comments and views.
I'm so happy that a poem was there for you that resonated so well. (It's one of my multitudinous favorite poems.) And I really appreciate your sharing with me what it meant to you. I put poems out into the world ... for individuals, real people with lives, emotions... through my poetry mailbox, but rarely do I hear back about whether they chose a poem that meant a lot to them. A couple of times someone was passing when I was out by my fence, and they made a point to tell of a poem they chose (or a sister had chosen) that was so perfect it made them cry... or with a similar strong resonance.
ReplyDeleteI love that you're traveling and doing so in spite of having to push past reluctance. I so understand those feelings, especially recently as I am retired and live alone. I used to take the Metro into DC until it got awful, and now I have a habit of mostly staying put. This fall when our stops re-open, I'm going to use you as my muse... and make myself get back out into the world! Yes, yes! Do travel now before your body might make it harder (as arthritis has affected me)! Go forward, and enjoy your travels! My heart goes with you :-) I know you are the kind of person for whom travel will touch your mind and heart and make you a richer person.
Thank you Renee! I've learned that it's important to let people know the impact they have on you, your life, the world. Otherwise we muddle around in the darkness.
DeleteI'm currently in Amsterdam. Solo for a few days. About to head out for a walk and a wander. I'll take you with me today.