Memories attached / Recuerdos adjuntos

La versión en español está después de la versión en inglés.

I DWELL. MY MIND GETS caught up in past experiences and I then dwell and, often, I’m miserable. To get my mind out of that loop, I have a couple of songs I sing in my head. One is “Move On” from the Broadway musical, “Sunday in the Park with George.” The other, which is often even more helpful, is “No Day But Today” from the show and film, “Rent.”

But I do enjoy many of my memories and I love sharing the stories, as you’ve probably noticed. We have plenty of momentos around the house. I try to display only the ones that make me smile. Here are a few and their stories, with many more to come.

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YO DETENGO. MI MENTE SE encuentra atrapada en experiencias pasadas y luego habito y, a menudo, soy miserable. Para sacar mi mente de ese ciclo, tengo un par de canciones que canto en mi cabeza. Uno es “Move On” del musical de Broadway, “Sunday in the Park with George”. El otro, que a menudo es aún más útil, es “No hay más que hoy” del musical de Broadway y la película “Rent”. 

Pero disfruto muchos de mis recuerdos y me encanta compartir las historias, como probablemente hayas notado. Tenemos muchos momentos en casa. Intento mostrar solo los que me hacen sonreír. Aquí hay algunas y sus historias, y muchas más por venir.

• In 1971, when I was 17 and about to head off to university 400 miles from home. I was driving down Neptune Avenue in Brooklyn to meet a friend when I spotted my sister, Dale, waiting at a bus stop at the corner of Coney Island Avenue. I pulled over to gave her a lift home. She had been out shopping, a common occurrence, and had a going away gift for me. I can remember opening it in the car before pulling away. This is it above. Dale was 19. A confession: My first semester at school, the statue fell off my dorm dresser and broke. I was crushed and immediately repaired it. When Dale was 26, she had a brain tumor at the base of her skull right at the top of her spine. I looked at the cracks on the figurine and was convinced the brain cancer was my fault. (This will even be news to San Geraldo.) The figure sits on my desk and I think of her more than “now and then.”
• En 1971, cuando tenía 17 años y estaba a punto de ir a la universidad a 400 millas de casa. Estaba conduciendo por Neptune Avenue en Brooklyn para encontrarme con un amigo cuando vi a mi hermana, Dale, esperando en una parada de autobús en la esquina de Coney Island Avenue. Me detuve para llevarla a casa. Ella había estado de compras, algo común, y tenía un regalo de despedida para mí. Recuerdo haberlo abierto en el auto antes de alejarme. Este es el de arriba. El mensaje dice: “En esos momentos tranquilos en los que estás solo contigo mismo… piensa en mí de vez en cuando.” Dale tenía 19 años. Una confesión: Mi primer semestre en la escuela, la estatua se cayó de la cómoda de mi dormitorio y se rompió. Me aplastaron y lo reparé de inmediato. Cuando Dale tenía 26 años, tenía un tumor cerebral en la base del cráneo, justo en la parte superior de la médula espinal. Miré las grietas de la figura y me convencí de que el cáncer de cerebro era culpa mía. (Esto incluso será noticia para San Geraldo). La figura se sienta en mi escritorio y pienso en ella más que “de vez en cuando”.
• In 1979, I produced some business graphics as a favor for the wife of a colleague in another department at Downstate Medical Center. He had a tiny glass frame (2-3/4″ square) on his desk containing a photo of his wife. I had admired the frame and he gave me one as a thank-you for the artwork. I immediately placed this photo of Dale. It will soon be faded beyond recognition but I have a good quality scan that I’ll print when the time comes. The frame sat on my desk at every job I had since that time. It now sits on a shelf in my office.
• En 1979, realicé unos gráficos comerciales como un favor para la esposa de un colega en otro departamento en Downstate Medical Center. Tenía un pequeño marco de vidrio (7-cm cuadrado) en su escritorio que contenía una foto de su esposa. Yo había admirado el marco y me dio uno como agradecimiento por los gráficos. De inmediato coloqué esta foto de Dale. Pronto se desvanecerá irreconocible, pero tengo un escaneo de buena calidad que imprimiré cuando llegue el momento. El marco se sentó en mi escritorio en cada trabajo que tuve desde entonces. Ahora se encuentra en un estante en mi oficina .
• The parents of our friend Judyshannon had an idyllic cabin on Lopez Island in the San Juans north of Seattle, Washington. The cabin sat at the end of a long winding dirt driveway at the edge of the woods on a high ridge above the water. We went to the cabin with Judy a couple of times. She bought this stone face and named her Olivia de Lopez. Olivia hung for years outside near the door. When her parents were no longer able to visit the cabin, they sold it. Judy saved Olivia for us. She’s now Olivia de Lopez Sevilla y Fuengirola.
• Los padres de nuestra amiga Judyshannon tenían una cabaña idílica en Lopez Island en los San Juan al norte de Seattle, Washington. La cabaña estaba al final de un camino de tierra largo y sinuoso al borde del bosque en una loma alta sobre el agua. Fuimos a la cabaña con Judy unas veces. Compró esta cara de piedra y la llamó Olivia de López. Olivia colgó durante años fuera, cerca de la puerta. Cuando sus padres ya no pudieron visitar la cabaña, la vendieron. Judy salvó a Olivia para nosotros. Ahora es Olivia de Lopez Sevilla y Fuengirola.

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Author: Moving with Mitchell

From Brooklyn, New York; to North Massapequa; back to Brooklyn; Brockport, New York; back to Brooklyn... To Boston, Massachusetts, where I met Jerry... To Marina del Rey, California; Washington, DC; New Haven and Guilford, Connecticut; San Diego, San Francisco, Palm Springs, and Santa Barbara, California; Las Vegas, Nevada; Irvine, California; Sevilla, Spain. And Fuengirola, Málaga..

32 thoughts on “Memories attached / Recuerdos adjuntos”

    1. David:
      It is. Lots of memory makers around our house. And some songs take me back to specific experiences. Boom Boom Boom Boom… and I’m on a rocking pirate ship ride that was traveling the neighbourhood while we visited some cousins in Brooklyn. I can picture where I sat, where my stoned cousin and her stoned friend sat, what they yelled during the ride, and how sick I felt. I think it was 1965!

      Reply

  3. I enjoyed reading the stories behind your treasures. Memories are often bittersweet, aren’t they. It’s a bitch how that works.

    Reply

  4. The death of a sibling at that age is devastating indeed. Our young minds are so vulnerable and pliable.
    The death of my brother when he was 19 was the turning point in my life. At the time all I saw was grief and sadness. Over the years I see his short life as being the inspiration that turned my life in a positive direction. In a way I have him to thank. ….if this makes any sense. When I think of him now it is not all regret.
    I hope every time you see these ‘Dale mementos’ they bring you some joy.

    Reply

    1. Jim:
      These mementos of Dale always bring me joy now. Actually, most of my happy memories from childhood and my teens involve Dale.

      Reply

  5. My experience is similar yet different ~ the loss of my father aged 36 devastated my brother who was 6 years old while I was only 2 years. As the years slipped by I knew that my connection wasn’t strong for my father’s memory but I began to realize that my brother was “changed immeasurably” for ever. My first hurdle was my age of 36 ~ would I reach that age? I did and now I wait for age 72 (next year) to arrive ~ will I reach this safely. I know it’s OCD but when you don’t have a brother’s love to rely on then life seems to flounder, flip flopping all the time. My brother passed 4 years ago so I am now left to my own imaginations. One thing over the years I grabbed onto was the historical info about my Dad a flying Ace in WW2. I have shared these over the years on FB and my recent blog. I mould my feelings with this history. It is what helps.

    Reply

    1. Ron:
      These are things that make me smile and remember fondly. I know what you mean about the milestone ages. Not healthy, not realistic to focus on them, but we do. Sharing photos, gifts, and stories we learn in later years definitely help. I love when you share things about your family.

      Reply

  6. I love the stories and the memories. That little statue from your sister is poignant — and so ’70s! What would Dale have thought if she knew you’d still have it even now, almost 50 years later.

    Reply

    1. Steve:
      Oh, that flower child. I don’t ever remember thinking it was overly precious, but it sure is. I can just picture Dale’s face at the sight of that after so many years.

      Reply

  7. you have such interesting items. dale is most likely pleased that she is still remembered fondly.

    Reply

  8. Three faces, three doors to memories. Those are particularly sweet ones, Mitchell, even with the sadness. When I closed my eyes to go to sleep last night, unpleasant memories rose to the surface. I had to tell myself – “No, not going there!” and deliberately call up happier memories to fall asleep with before I got sucked into the whirlpool. During the night I dreamt that I was writing and directing a film, which was fun and exciting. I can almost remember the plot . . .

    Reply

    1. Wilma:
      Hope you can put the entire plot together. What will be the name of your production company? And, yeah, getting sucked into the whirlpool is a perfect description.

      Reply

    1. Bob:
      I remember us both falling in love with Olivia the first time we saw her as we entered the cabin. We love having her here with us.

      Reply

    1. Kenosha Kid:
      Well, I loved Talking Heads but not this particular song. Sorry. Back to Broadway.

      Reply

    1. Urspo:
      Olivia started our collection of wall art. We didn’t take a lot of it with us from the States.

      Reply

  13. The counterculture was still going strong while I was in elementary school–or so it seemed at the time. I now realize it was winding down in the early ’70s and was done for by the time I was in high school. I was a bit disappointed because I remember when I was in the 3rd or 4th grade thinking that it might be neat to be a hippie. It was hardly the only thing I wanted to be as a child, but the counterculture did form an impression on my young mind. By that time it had seeped into Saturday morning cartoons–The Banana Splits, Scoopy-Do, Where Are You, and of course, Pufnstuf. And there were hippie toys and figurines such as the one you show here. In retrospect, the mainstreaming of the counterculture may have been a sign that it was winding down, but oh was I fascinated. Your hippie sculpture brings all that back.

    Reply

    1. Kirk:
      Fortunately, the hippy counterculture did survive for a while despite the commercialism.

      Reply

    1. Mary:
      Thanks. I hadn’t meant it to be quite so poignant, but then I don’t really know what I was thinking.

      Reply

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