There’s surprise embedded in the new; then
there is the startle in the unexpected; yet I am hard pressed to describe the specific
feeling of re-discovery of my forgotten.
Oft as not it happens while I am looking for something else amidst my unlabeled
boxes. A treasure from the past, well tucked away, suddenly springs out to
claim my attention. It’s accomplished
with adept speed. I happened on that
feeling just the other day while searching for something to write about. I make it a point to steer clear of daily
issues that invoke passionate polar positions.
Ah, the joy of hollering “Is not” followed by “sez you.” Gosh, how I miss kitchen table squabbling with
siblings…not. So then, I peruse my past
writings for something to spark my imagination and get me to pontificating…neat
huh?
I read recently
where sentimentality was considered in some quarters as just a diluted type of
depression; the feeling being an amalgam of derivative emotions sparked by
sorrow in loss. Perhaps all roads in
life lead to grief, so I am not all that surprised with that type of assessment
as well as giving it a degree of credence.
I’d sprinkle that interpretation with a healthy dose of affection and
kindness though, just to soften an otherwise callous point of view concerning
our shared human existence; if a case for judging sentimentality as a state of
delusion or denial of the actual that is. I didn’t mean to attack those
heart-pause moments when looking at wedding photographs; or the sighs that come
along with snap shots of toddlers building sandcastles in the long ago surf crashing
in the background. Just as I am inclined
to wonder when I indulge in such things as to where those smiling people in my
personal history are today; what are they doing right now? Mostly liberated from the entangling
resentments or judgments of long past affronts, I’d toy with the kindled
affection from then into hoping they were happy. Isn’t that the most silly of sentiment
of them all?
Even if indulging so
seems to warm
me…what’s the harm?
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