"The digital camera is a great invention because it allows us to reminisce. Instantly."
I’ll tell you all the truth, but you have to be willing to keep a secret. Before I tell you my secret truth, you must pay the story tax. (sorry to bring up taxes during such an economically tumultuous time. This is a place of reprieve.) When I was in college, I lived with these guys Conner and Brenden. They have been characters in past issues. Conner is a genuine and honest man. Brenden, now a devoted husband and father of two, was a handsome and single young man with the voice of an angel at the time this story takes place. One day, while Conner and I were hanging out in our dorm room, there was a knock on the door. A young lady who, while kind, wasn’t someone we spent much time with, was standing there with a pyrex dish and a dream. She asked, “Is Brenden home?” He wasn’t and we told her the bad news. She said, “Oh, I made this buffalo chicken dip and didn’t know if you wanted it.” A very casual pitch for something very obviously premeditated. We said we would take it and let him know where it came from.
Not two seconds after the door had shut did I turn to Conner and say, “Do you want to help me mess with Brenden?” He eagerly agreed, saying something so indicative of who Conner is, “I finally get to be the one messing with one of you all.” As mentioned before, Conner is incredibly genuine and honest so he was not one to often mess with others. We put our creative minds together and came up with a story I’m both proud of, for the joke, and ashamed of because this young lady didn’t deserve our slander by proxy.
When Brenden got back to the dorm, we told him that (Name Redacted) had brought some Buffalo chicken dip for him. He looked at the very full Pyrex dish and was already a little weirded out because, why did she do that? We then told him, “We probably shouldn’t tell you this, and we don’t know why she told us, but she said to make sure you ate it. She said she put one of her hairs in the dip so, when you ate it, she would literally ‘be inside and a part of you.’” Again, not proud of this but also a little proud of the story.
Needless to say, that dip was never eaten. Even though we all knew the story wasn’t true, it was still tarnished. Why do I tell you that? Because, like Conner with Buffalo Chicken dip, I want to let you into a little joke. This one is way more harmless, but the kind I love to make. Those of you who know me outside of the Daily Dispatch know I’ve been working on building built-in bookcases for months. I am proud to say that not only are they done, but also I will be beginning my full time carpentry career today.
The bookcases will serve as a metaphor later in this issue, but also they are the source of a harmless little white lie. On Sunday night, I plan on posting the progress pictures of the bookcases on Instagram and saying, “Well, it took me all weekend, but they turned out nice!” Why make such a benign joke? Because I can. The other day I told a room full of people that Dr. Pepper owns Arby’s. Why? Because I can. If any of you tell anyone the bookcases took more than one weekend to create, I will hunt you down and make you regret messing with a man who now owns multiple power tools. Why? Because I can.
These bookcases were a labor of love. Yesterday was Niki and my 4th anniversary. Building these bookcases was the perfect depiction of what happens when “That’ll work” and “It must be perfect” marry each other and share a tape measure. Filling the bookcases, and the cabinets underneath, was a reflection of all we’ve built over those years. What we’ve metaphorically built placed on what we’ve physically built.
Behind the center cabinets resides my baseball card collection. The fact that almost an entire cabinet is devoted to baseball cards betrays two truths: I have way too many baseball cards and Niki really loves me. To the right, the cabinet has picture albums and a couple of very special scrapbooks. Before putting them into the cabinets to complete the young couple’s ritual of moving things from one storage location to another, we took the time to look through them. Inside we found pictures where we looked younger and skinnier. We found letters we had written to each other. We reminisced on the moments that meant enough to us at the time to capture in picture or write down, that we had since not meant enough to hold in our memories. I realized, as I look forward to many more years with Niki, so many precious moments will be superseded by better memories until I have a 60+ year highlight reel of time well spent with my best friend.
We took a full hit of nostalgia that night. Through teary eyes we reflected on how far we’ve come. This coming a week after processing my parents move from my childhood home means I’ve been on a pretty intense nostalgia bender. I’ve written about nostalgia and memories many times. I am a storyteller after all and what is a story but a well polished nostalgic trip? However, like any powerful drug, nostalgia has its side effects. Like sore muscles, it often blends pleasure and pain. It’s a hurt for time passed, but a pain that feels good knowing time was well spent. Yesterday’s happiness that brings today’s sadness.
My fear is if, right now, I grieve too hard for a time that’s dead, I murder the time that stands breathing. If anything, reminiscing makes me want to find a way to ensure I hold tight to moments as they happen. So many of the books sitting on the newly built shelves have pages that are dog eared. I made special note of certain pages with a little fold that said, “important.” A quiet marker to make sure I come back. I wish I could dog ear memories. There are way too many “moments I’ll never forget” that I can’t seem to remember. With many more years of marriage ahead of us and a daughter who will be here any day now, I want to hold close the little moments that are in danger of being replaced by others until they fade from “unforgettable” to “oh yeah, I remember” to gone.
Maybe now is a good time to explore the difference between memories and nostalgia. Memories celebrate moments while nostalgia longs for them. It’s as if nostalgia says that “now” is not good enough because even back when it was, I didn’t want it. In nostalgia, I beg for today to be like things were, are, in my memories. Which they will be, in my memories.
I remember so many amazing moments with Niki “back then”. I wouldn’t trade now for then, though, and that makes all the difference. If anything, I hope to be reminded of a younger man who made the most of moments and commit myself to still being that man. I will write Niki more letters that highlight the beauty of now. I will take pictures of a house for two being turned into a child’s first home. I will dog ear these moments so we can look back on them and “remember when.”
We now have a beautiful built-in bookcase that, as you all know, took me an entire weekend to build. It is filled with our stories, others’ stories, and completely made up stories. But it’s not just about preserving what has already been written, it’s making space for the new.
