Today I began cleaning out my office. Clearing away more than four years of memories. It reminded me that I'm comfortable being a wanderer; my roots are in people and experiences. I need to keep focused on what I have and who I am.
I packed away pictures of people who when I first met, considered them only as business colleagues. Now, they are treasured friends. I also found my head-shot, taken the first month I started the job. Not only was I younger, but I was two dress sizes bigger and 25 pounds heavier.
Thumbing through stacks and stacks of business cards, I was reminded of all the people I've come in contact over the years. Most of those cards brought back happy memories, a few didn't. A couple stood out:
The overly "fluffy," Jewish-African-American-Republican-Anti-War woman who had me drive her all over the county one day to find a venue for a peace rally. I remember being worried that she wouldn't be able to get out of my little Saturn Ion because she had to squeeze herself to get into it (and I was a little bit worried about my shocks, too.)
Then there was the man who wanted me to mail postcards from Sarasota for him. Nothing odd about that, except, these were cards being sent to his children and friends stating he was sailing around the world, when in fact, he was sitting comfortably in Iowa. OK, still not that strange. BUT, a month after I sent the cards out for him, I received an envelope in the mail that was made from a calendar (which I've done) and decorated with scratch n' sniff stickers. This was the time during the Anthrax mail scares so our designated mail person carefully opened the envelop while wearing her sterile, latex gloves and face mask. White powder didn't fall out. Pictures of a time machine did. This man, who called himself "Captain," had constructed a time machine in his backyard, wrote me about his journeys and invited me to come along. Flattered, I chose not to mess around with time.
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