I’ve been on my Facebook page today. My poor, pitiful, no longer addictive, no longer the only social media place I post, vent, ruminate, share or play on anymore. Actually, it’s not just forgotten, it’s my most avoided place, my Facebook page.
I’ve avoided it because it’s the place where the ‘real’ people live. The people I often run into and the people who know my phone number and where I live. The people in my life I have no idea why I avoid because I like most of them, in fact was very close to many of them.
But, since it’s soon to be a new year I’ve it may be a good time to make a few old things new again.
for the last 45 minutes I’ve been trying to figure out how to embed a Facebook plugin into my blog. Well, more than 45 minutes ’cause of interruptions and my own widget illiteracy. I’ve been going from help topic to help topic to link to link back and forth. ugh. It’s the kind of thing I’m NOT going to give up until I figure it out, dammit!
The neat thing is that I stumbled upon my many, many long-forgotten posts on Facebook. It’s a treasure trove! A cute little song my youngest daughter wrote when she was 6. Photos I haven’t looked at in years. A history of politics with my dad’s plethora of email jokes, cartoons and anecdotes. (A HUGE plethora)
and a very cringy, embarrassment of my ventings and certain weird spiritual things I found interesting.
See, I have the WORST memory in the world. the WORST…
So, when I read this story below, it was like reading fiction about a fictional me, the ‘old’ me that I hope to make new again. Maybe bring back that part of my heart that feels like it’s been sleeping.
I just wanted to share it with you.
You whose writings and thoughts and poems and prose all speak to me of so much more than my tired heart remembers to see.
You who share your heart and soul, your beautiful, gritty, sometimes dark realities.
You who share so much joy and grace.
You who teach me more than you will ever know.
You who make me want to be a better me.
I just wanted to share some of my old new memories…
Today I sit in the children’s section of the library using the computer.The adult ones are taken. I am in my own little zone. My two youngest are on vacation and my oldest, Abby is with her friend. I am in a world of my own, just me, finally. I am thinking how blissful this is.
For once I am completely alone.
I have my thoughts planned out and websites lined up and ideas in my head, no one to worry about. No having to wait on the lone PC at home, the one shared by myself and my parents, whom we live with. No having someone sighing and standing over my shoulder waiting for their turn. For once, no ticking clock or human time bombs waiting to go off. For once The Utter Bliss of Aloneness.
I am scrunched down wearing these ‘alien’ ginormous headphones that cover my head in a bubble of thought. Serene and content finding comfort in this rare time of NO distractions.
Then, a noise. I don’t look up. In the zone. My little world. My oasis of me.
It’s a woman and child coming into the library. MY library.
I hear him as he approaches. He is excited. He wants to play a game on the computer.
Here he comes. He seems happy. Sounds of laughter and fun tumble around in a cacophony of kid. A pause, silence, then the sounds change to discordant whines and moans.
I look up and the others look around. I realize all the computers are taken.
Avoid eye contact if you want to keep your computer. Pretend he isn’t there. He’ll go away. He is invisible if you close your eyes.
Then I really see him.
A pale little boy, brown hair all tousled. He is different. He has some sort of disability. He limps a little and his arm hangs down, dangling. His face doesn’t look just right. He cannot talk.
The other children stare. I try not to.
He just mumbles and grunts and jumps around trying to see if there is a computer free. I hear his mother say, “You have to wait Ben, be patient, you have to wait.”
He is not happy to wait. He’s the noisest noise in this cocoon of headphones and the lone always grumpy librarian glaring a big old “Shhhhh!!”.
His poor mother is nervously trying to quiet him down.
Everyone is staring.
I don’t want to make eye contact ’cause it would mean I have to ‘see’ him. I would have to acknowledge that he’s THERE.
He wants to PLAY and he’s getting louder about it. He’s obviously looked forward to this time for so long. Happy anticipation becomes energetic, heated impatience.
All of us seated look around, only our eyes moving, as if we’re frozen, glued to the chairs. We stare at each other, then at him and then at her.
It’s as if we are pieces of furniture. In our own wooden, steely cold world. Alone yet not alone. IRobots.
I’m not going to be like them. I’m more. I have to be. For him, for me. I have to be.
I stand up. I look at him. “Here, you play now.” Such a little thing in this world.
He stands there, kind of leaning towards me, staring and I smile and gently touch his shoulder. “Have fun, Ben.”
And he smiles. Like a little sun, he smiles. His face that I shunned now lights up with beauty and I see God’s precious child filled with joy.
My heart melts. The rivers flow. The walls fall.
I look at him, thinking sadly,
“Why did it take me so long to get out of my chair?”