Among the many things that suck when you are alone, and I mean that in the way of not having someone special in your life, is you can't share a memory. This weekend I was at a state conference for work. They had a local VFW present the flag and a recorded national anthem. The recording was a modern rendition, nice-but not the 'official' way it is suppose to be played.
As I stood at attention with my hand over my heart, all I could think of was how many times I had played it and could still play it by memory on the tuba right now. But also how Bunch would hit that high note at the end. I can hear it right now and I can see Bunch playing. Hell I can see all of us playing it. Speidel on the trombone, Summers on the clarinet, Beck on drums. Also at the conference my boss gave me, what I consider a good compliment, in that he said I remembered my interaction with people (i.e. I remember why people said yes or no to my sales presentation). I wanted to say its because those times are stressful. And that makes an imprint. The times at Kemper were stressful and the best of my life. Of course I am going to remember them! From the way light reflects off brass, or the smell of certain foods or the sound of the National Anthem or the look of a grass field on a clear day. I remember. And as sweet as those times were-the sour is that I have no one I can tell them to. The people from Kemper know those times. The ones I went to school with, lived them with me. Others have similar stories.
But those times, were my times. And I have no one I can share them with. Those times are what make me who I am, so no one really knows the layers. I could have taken a friend to this event, but the significant others were the guests and no one fits in that category for me. Also, unless you are in the biz, it can get long since you have no idea what is going on or who these people are or why people are making so, much, noise.
Another thing; the Kansas City Chief cheerleaders were also there. Very attractive, very energetic, very smiling, very young ladies. A credit to that organization. And yet, all I could think of was the time at the Chase Park Plaza in St. Louis, where the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders were also there. I remember riding in the elevator with Bernhardt and some of them. Nothing happen. No one spoke, there was absolutely zero interaction. And yet I remember Bernhardt standing next to me along with an elevator full of those cheerleaders. and when they walked out we followed. To say we were in a daze was understatement.
And lastly they had some men and women doing the hula and Hawaiian dancing. The big trip for meeting a certain goal is to go to Hawaii. I remember a May day;(actually more than one) that was hot. The smell of fresh cut grass. The crowd of people. And the scent of flowers from the leis that the island guys and girls got from their parents for graduation and commissioning. And the fact that I was made an honorary Hawaiian by them. Not a howley. I remember their smiles, the hugs and the strong handshakes. And their friendship, which to me is the most important thing in my life.Things like that. Moments like that.I keep; seemingly ready to burst forth at times; to explode on people unexpectedly. Too soon. Too soon.
To me Hell is not remembering. I guess that's why I went through what I did at the beginning of my life, as those memories help me through the last part of my life.
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