Coronavirus Social Distancing Log- Day 3…
Our world has gone a bit crazy, people are in the aisles hoarding toilet paper and paper towels, every kid is a homeschooler now and the pace of life is beginning to slow to a crawl. In an effort to stay sane and maybe to seize upon the beautiful opportunity we’ve been given to reflect and create and love our families and well, just be. My friend, Kati and I were chatting about how we were muddling through this experience and she brought up writing prompts. I told her I was trying my hand at them again and would share them with her, and she encouraged me to return to this space and share them here. So that I’ll do….for how long- I won’t make any false promises, but for today at least.
This prompt comes from my favorite place to explore memory and memoir- Old Friend From Far Away by Natalie Goldberg. It’s simple….just write….for ten minutes…no editing. The prompt is Storage.
Tell me about a storage unit or someplace you stored things. Write for 10 minutes. Go.
There’s a box that sits on my bedside table that holds the oddest collection of things. I can’t remember where I got it, but the metal hinges are rusted and complain a bit when you swing them open. The dry wood is carved with intricate symbols of a religion that no longer whispers meaning to me. It’s full of interesting odds and ends from a life that seems eons ago. A St Christopher’s medallion blessed by the Pope, dog tags that proudly proclaim my blood type and social security number. There’s a tie tack in there that I was awarded when I left the Army and the silver dollar my great uncle gave me along with my first salute. My 11th BDE belt buckle and challenge coin that used to travel every where with me, even overseas….even into war…lest I be caught without it and challenged by a brother in arms. It smells of sandalwood and patchouli and way too many other kinds of incense and it reminds me of a girl who doesn’t live here anymore. It’s an odd feeling to look back over items of a past life and realize you’re no longer connected to them. But still they sit, in that carved wooden box, on my bedside table.