lizblackdog (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lizblackdog) wrote2011-04-15 07:29 pm
lizblackdog) wrote2011-04-15 07:29 pm
Entry tags:
Ring them bells for all of us who are left
Today I officially love Facebook. I've always been massively wary of getting in contact with anyone I went to school with, for a bunch of reasons - we change so very, very much, we're all basically dickheads as teenagers, and my school career can be succinctly described as nasty, brutish and short.
Nevertheless, two people I was at school with have tracked me down anyway. One, Carolyn, was my BFF at prep school when we were both pony-mad prepubescents. I am enormously tickled to discover that she's still into horses, has herding dogs and keeps bees. I can't exactly say we know each other well any more, but she's plainly awesome.
She was someone I played pretending games and made up stories with. That, far more than ponies or even sheepdogs, is the thread between us that hasn't snapped in thirty years.
The other friend, Sarah, went to my last school when we were both in our mid-to-late teens. My memory of those times is spotty at best; I didn't know it at the time but I was already starting to fall through the cracks in my own brain. That last school was a good one, but the two before it had left me skittish as a trapped wild animal; I didn't have enough trust or resilience left to let it do me any good. I ran like hell the moment I could and never went back.
Today Sarah showed me a scan of a painting I did for her at the time. I am awed. See, I don't have any of my old work left any more, and haven't had for decades. For a long time now I've been certain my memories of being able to produce good work were false, the same as my memories of flying.
Except, bugger me, they're not. I can remember doing that painting, although without seeing it again I would never have remembered what it looked like or what I was trying to do. I don't really remember if I felt I'd succeeded at the time, but looking at it now, I certainly succeeded at something. And I think I might be able to use it to rediscover the part of me that's capable of doing that; because these unkept promises have been sitting here a year now. I haven't forgotten.
Thank you, Sarah <3
Nevertheless, two people I was at school with have tracked me down anyway. One, Carolyn, was my BFF at prep school when we were both pony-mad prepubescents. I am enormously tickled to discover that she's still into horses, has herding dogs and keeps bees. I can't exactly say we know each other well any more, but she's plainly awesome.
She was someone I played pretending games and made up stories with. That, far more than ponies or even sheepdogs, is the thread between us that hasn't snapped in thirty years.
The other friend, Sarah, went to my last school when we were both in our mid-to-late teens. My memory of those times is spotty at best; I didn't know it at the time but I was already starting to fall through the cracks in my own brain. That last school was a good one, but the two before it had left me skittish as a trapped wild animal; I didn't have enough trust or resilience left to let it do me any good. I ran like hell the moment I could and never went back.
Today Sarah showed me a scan of a painting I did for her at the time. I am awed. See, I don't have any of my old work left any more, and haven't had for decades. For a long time now I've been certain my memories of being able to produce good work were false, the same as my memories of flying.
Except, bugger me, they're not. I can remember doing that painting, although without seeing it again I would never have remembered what it looked like or what I was trying to do. I don't really remember if I felt I'd succeeded at the time, but looking at it now, I certainly succeeded at something. And I think I might be able to use it to rediscover the part of me that's capable of doing that; because these unkept promises have been sitting here a year now. I haven't forgotten.
Thank you, Sarah <3