throwback

I like to look back at things my past self was thinking/writing about quite often.

but all my old real paper journals are in storage right now, our apartment being a little bit too tiny and shelf space therein too limited.

so instead I scroll way back through various digital scrapbooks. what random stuff did I link to in 2013? what random photographs did I post?

dorset cereals and their lovely packaging.

aw, this game about squares that I used to be so into.

an ebook called Articulating Betweenity that I heard about at a conference one time.

was this trip to DC really only two years ago?

surely if this lost photo of a quartet of missionaries got shared enough times in enough social media places, someone out there would recognize its subjects and perhaps even its setting, right? I guess someone just has to care enough to do enough sharing. (half-relatedly, should I keep my flickr account? even though I cannot remember the password for it or even the password to the never-used yahoo email account that it is attached to? probably I should.)

I miss our old, first apartment. the balcony. the space, strangely-shaped thought it was. I miss all the windows it had, and the character of the claw-foot tub and the radiators and the tiled fireplace. how beautiful it was to walk almost everywhere from that corner. and how often we had people visit us for games and dinner parties.

will there be dinner parties again? when?

all my old journals and calendar books are in storage. but before we moved I took some photos of the calendar books. they're so eclectic and neat, all in a row. 

ten and a half years of weekly plans of various sorts.

taped-together binding. sticky notes. rough-sketched maps.

"more yoga, more sleep, more love, more writing, more open," from January, 2012.

 

lists and lists of things to do, things done. I'm sure 84% of all the list items are variations on this one: "write."

this year's is more than half-full now, just as scribbled in and check-marked as all the others are.

despite all that's going on, the summer feels strangely, blessedly empty. a paradox of having such long days and so few demanding tasks.

some things, thankfully, can stay the same for us, no matter how far away we've moved from everything we now drape in nostalgia.

one last throwback link, trawled up from the ancient depths of my twitter: belong to where you are. the whole album/stream is pretty interesting, too.