Wha Happen?

CAN'T FIND my Latest Post!

There I am typing away...(keyboarding away?) creating an amazing, funny, intelligent, artistic, incredible, award winning post, a Pulitzer Prize winning....

oops, I got caught praising myself.
What a braggart!
How unseemly!!
How self absorbed.
How distasteful.
How fun.

Anyway, back to the LOST POST.
It was about summer camp. Have you seen it?
I checked my other blog: Basset is OK.
Not there.
Is it stuck in the worldwideweb?
Floating about in the little wires with tiny light pathways, connecting all the internet.
Did Al Gore swap it with his own mumbling writings?
Did I delete it by accident?
This blogging deal is pretty fuzzy.

Anyway, it was fun to write about summer camp.

I got an email.
From an adopted older sister.
(She doesn't know how to comment on my blog, I guess. This stuff can be too modern for us babyboomers. Is Bill Gates a babyboomer?)

R knew me and the family early on.
I was 13, still had braces on my teeth.
I'd never had a big sister. She was different from the big brothers.
She came from a different planet...North Dakota. And a military child.
She read some of my blog entries and writes via email:

"I just read your blogs."
"What I remember is different from your memories:
You have often said you have a childhood of holding back.
I saw just the opposite in you as a girl. I often wondered what you would have thought of my house..where children were supposed to be seen and not heard.

We could not speak unless we were spoken to.
I remember being so shocked and also delighted that you would yell at your parents. I had never seen that in a young girl before! I thought they had done something right because you were not afraid of them.
You always expressed yourself.

You often ran out while they were talking to you.
You talked over them and you told them to stop smoking and stole their cigarettes.

That was something I would not have done in a million years.
My parents would have disowned me for talking the way you did to your parents.

I thought you had so much freedom to express yourself.
I remember you running out the door with Ralphie.
You and your dog running down the beach recklessly and beautifully free.

I think your parents thought they were doing the right thing in letting you be expressive. Your dad said his childhood was repressive and wanted to raise his kids differently.

And your mom had a happy party atmosphere at her childhood house which she tried to imitate.

I liked the part that too about your Mom loving you the best she knew how.
A sign of forgiveness.
The precious part about her excitement over the simple dot flower she had made. Lovely memory.

And the very well written part about your family rushing around like courtiers/jesters to appease your dad. So true.

Best of all the ride up the mountain that broke the cord imprisoning you to the past. Good."

Something happens when an outsider remembers your memories.
Something to think about.

Someone to appreciate, to love, even.