Traces Left Behind

Truth be told, I still have a real affection for ‘Agnes’ and it would seem others feel the same way too. The story of this imagined love affair took me back to a time and place long since faded gray and vapid but still poignant to the mental touch.

Dinkytown courtesy of Hennepin County Library

While the affair lasted, it was a fun romp through places and people and bright hopes for the future. With my feet planted firmly in 2022, I could venture back to the mid-sixties and enjoy the experiences that Agnes and I shared together back then. A fair number of my readers seem to have enjoyed coming along for the journey too.

So far I have received two bonus checks from Amazon based on the success of ‘Agnes; Memories of First Love’ on their Vella platform. Writing a novella for this platform was a new experience for me. One never knows if this (not) new approach to story-telling is going to work or not.

While finishing up my story of romance and heartache with ‘Agnes,’ I began to ponder what I might do next if ‘Agnes’ was successful. It would have to be another serialized story that caught my audience’s attention and held it for fifteen or so episodes. As so often happens in the creative process, the core idea for this new storyline remained hidden from my consciousness for a while; three weeks to be exact. Until one day, out of the blue, it revealed itself at LA Fitness between the stationary bicycle and the treadmill.

While I had no idea how the story would end, there was the vapid shadow of a beginning in my grasp. It came in the form of an obituary appearing in the mail out of nowhere.

In this new story, the obituary came from the daughter of a woman I had been involved with many years before. It was more of a note than a formal obituary. The problem is that no one knew about our relationship back then. In addition, there were glaring errors in the notice. It almost seemed as if it had been written by someone who didn’t know the deceased very well at all.

From there, it got even more complicated. When I tried to contact the woman’s daughter I got nothing but dead ends thrown up in my face. Her daughter was evasive in her answers and sounded as if she hardly knew her mother very well at all. Further investigation revealed a pattern of deliberate misinformation and the distortion of facts. The one truth that was revealed was her mother’s love of the city lakes and their picturesque sailboats. So how did the daughter get that part right and little else?

I traveled to Southern Minnesota to make inquiries with an old acquaintance I hadn’t seen in years. He was even more dishonest in his answers. There were hints that the woman was still alive and they were an ‘item’ or at least he wanted them to be.

Then it got even more complicated.

That’s where the story stands thus far. I haven’t figured out an ending but I have managed to add numerous twists and turns in every episode and (I hope) one heck of a plot twist near the ending of the story.

Unfortunately, there are many other pressing projects screaming for my attention. So for now, I can only manage scratching at this outline as limited time allows. I love the idea of exploring ‘whatever happened to’. This past lover of mine and her evasive daughter seem ripe for the picking. It should be one heck of a writing journey when I finally get back to telling their story.

Fixin' to Die

I’ve reached that point in my life where people I know are starting to die.

Of course, there were others who died back when I was young. But youth and little personal connection meant a somber night at the funeral home because I had to not because I cared. As I grew older there was the occasional unexpected demise of a casual friend or associate but never some-one close enough to move my heart.

Me as a Teenager

I guess I became more aware of my own mortality and that of others when my early morning sidekicks began to pass away. It was those scholars of teenage bliss and angst. My early morning rock and roll companions who trudged with me through twenty-below-zero snow banks to deliver the morning newspaper. They sang to me though my transistor radio and told me all about love and loss and my best years ahead.

One of my favorite song-writing poets died recently. Leonard Cohen spoke to me in a dozen different voices and languages; all of which tugged at my heart and soul.

Now even some folks closer to me, in-laws, parents and relatives have passed on. No one is fixin to die but it’s coming around for all of us. My next door neighbor died a couple of weeks ago. We weren’t close and he wasn’t very friendly but we talked occasionally and joked and philosophized about the world. Now he’s gone too.

Like most past generations, death was one of those topics that seldom if ever was addressed among my relatives. It was never broached in my immediate family when I was growing up. Through either a reticence to admit the inevitable, fear, or abject denial the topic was seldom broached. People grew old, got sick and died. Then someone had to write their obituary.

Strange though it might sound, I’ve always admired those folks with the foresight and fortitude to write their own obituaries.

I think it would be a challenge yet immensely rewarding to write an open honest obituary. I believe a funeral should be the time of celebrating a life well led. A finely crafted obituary can share with friends and strangers happy memories over sadness. It forces the writer to address one key question: what is my legacy? What did I do here on earth to warrant the pride and hopefully the gratitude of my peers, friends, family, and others?

All those thoughts and more have been compiled in yet another file folder for a future musical play I’ve love to write. It’s about a funeral and the celebration that takes place there.

Since none of us have the advantage of knowing how long we’re going to live, I think it’s important to reflect on what we can do now that we’re still alive. Beyond the standard of having a will, staying healthy and exercise, I do have a few more thoughts.

We should each day as if it is our last. Not in a morbid kind of way but rather a daily celebration of the wonder of life and friends and family all around us. Helping others even in the most simplest of ways can mean everything to someone else. And lastly, follow your dreams whatever they are. As the cliché goes, life is too short to live it any other way.