The Notebook: A Life Lesson
by: Ronovan
“Hey, Ron, check out that box over there and see what we can get rid of,” said Chet.
I pulled the box to me and began going through the sweaters, magazines and umbrellas. I wondered how people could lose so many things in a church and just not think of what happened to them.
The Bible was beautiful. I opened it and saw the name, Orthel Hopkins. I shook my head. His mother should have been looking for this already. Or maybe he had been hiding something else in his Bible cover so she didn’t know yet. I set it aside and would sneak it to him another time.
Read. The word jumped out at me. It was my hand writing. It looked like one of my notebooks. But why was it here?
“. . . had a great time and posted some fun vacation pictures for you. . .”
“Chet, I’ll be back later.” I didn’t wait for an answer. I only lived minutes away. The car didn’t even have time to cool inside before I was pulling into the driveway.
I dropped my keys trying to open the door. Bending down hurt but I didn’t stop or even stutter in my movements. I just wanted inside.
My laptop was waiting. The lid was open, ready to hit the power button. I read the names on the list again as the screen came on. It took forever for the facebook screen to load but finally I was able to log in.
The names were of faces that all looked similar. I knew the faces. I had seen them in my mind before. Why had the notebook been at the church, who had read it? Had anyone read it? I knew the faces.
Flashes came back from the white walled room. Those were just imagined faces though. I wasn’t supposed to remember anything. But they weren’t imagined. There they were. But this notebook . . . it wasn’t a memory notebook from my bedside.
I had been keeping memory notebooks the entire time. The notes were not like the ones now. They were more a journal. I leaned back and stared down at the faces. Memories started flooding, emotions, feelings, events, words.
In a matter of minutes I had discovered something. I had found out that I wasn’t alone. There was a world with people who cared about me, shared lives with me to make me happy, a world that took pictures so I could see that happiness.
I closed my eyes. I had thought I kept my memory notebooks to help me with each day, but I had been keeping them this whole time to help me remember my life and my loves. You never know what simple little word will make a difference in your world, or someone else’s. How powerful are words? They create or bring back memories, emotions, love. They can also bring back and create worse.
I had been choosing my words for the past year to create better in the world. Now I knew it wasn’t something that had come from me, but something that I had learned from others . . . from faces.
© Copyright-All rights reserved-RonovanWrites.wordpress.com-June 23, 2014.
Words… ‘You never know what simple little word will make a difference in your world, or someone else’s.’ wonderful things… great post!
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Reblogged this on Dazzling Whimsy and commented:
“In a matter of minutes I had discovered something. I had found out that I wasn’t alone.” – perfect in so many ways. It would be wonderful for everyone who is alone to discover this for themselves.
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Insightful, I love this, “I had been choosing my words for the past year to create better in the world. Now I knew it wasn’t something that had come from me, but something that I had learned from others . . . from faces.” Wow.
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wonderful post ronavan – you are gifted and well, we have something in common – I love keeping memory notebooks – and feel very similar to what you share here.
oh – and I love the emotion you let us feel – and also this realization was poignant:
” I had thought I kept my memory notebooks to help me with each day, but I had been keeping them this whole time to help me remember my life and my loves….”
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You got me in the gut again – reminding me to appreciate all I have. Thank you for that
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Thank you for liking it. I wasn’t sure about this one.
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I know that feeling. I have lots of poetry I still haven’t shared on here as not sure it’s good enough. Writers’ angst. I really liked what you wrote.
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Share it. If it’s truth, then it’s good. Honesty is always good. One of my posts on here said simply this; “I don’t write poetry, I write micro chapters of my autobiography.” Share. You may speak to someone.
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Thanks. I have a poetry and life story file and a lot of my blogs are going in that. But I have about 80-100 poems from before I joined WordPress as well as all the others collected in various journals… I think the scary part for me is that revealing of self.
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🙂 Look at what I share. I never plan to do that. It just comes out. I sit down to a blank screen, close my eyes, hope for happy, and then whatever comes out comes out. Most of the times it’s just not quite happy. Helpful for me, yes. Happy, no. 🙂
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I know but I get paranoid in case a future employer sees what I write and blacklists me or family LOL
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Then start a Poetry Blog with just a poetry blog name to it. 😀
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Visceral. Loved it. Thanks for sharing.
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