Yes I agree when talking about the past it should be mainly good memories. Sad memories are good if you want a pity party.
It is strange when I wrote my stories and wrote about the war, strange how much I remembered. Now that it is on paper, it has left my memory. One publisher told me she enjoyed the war stories the best. Well that is because you don't often get to hear it throught the eyes of a child. These stories are not sad for me really, even if it was not a good time. It is just part of history.
That sounds indeed like it would be an interesting reading. I am fascinated by the profecies in the Bible. It tells about the past, precent and the future. It is here, when it tells me about the future, that I am very interested.
So do I and they are mostly good memories right? I have soooo many great memories I wrote some of my earlier experiences down like the war, my first year as an immigrant etc.( they are on the net) I am only sorry I did not keep a diary, in my later years. The twenty years that spend alone in between husbands. Lol it might have become a best seller.
A few, one man in particular, does not like me to talk about the past. I do like it, and at times do so. As those who have read my stories know, my life has not always been a bed of rozes. I do not like to dwell on the not so great times. Compared to many people, It WAS a bed of rozes! I often recall the many sayings of wisdom my dad used to tell us kids and I remember and use them, still today. Yet I do have many great memories, and at times love to recal some of them.
Do you do this? How much can you talk about a future that has not yet happened? Sure we can talk about our dreams and goals etc.
I enjoy reflecting about the past. So many good memories. Some of my male friends tell me they don't like this going back. It is difficult to talk to much about tomorrow as it has not yet happened. Perhaps I should ask in the forum eh?
I saw beauty today in the soft, white snow falling outside when I woke, turning the world here slowly into a winter wonderland. I hate the cold that comes with it, but the beauty of the snow reminds me of what I do like about this season. It's still falling, and I'm still seeing the beauty.
I see beauty in the moments I have on here with friends, and in the moments I sit in my living room with my dogs on my lap. And I see it in the times that I share with my sons.
Yeah the compliment fly! Your so easy to talk too. Your so funny. Wish you where here. You can express yourself so well. Your very intelligent. Wished I had met you x amount of years ago. I can't wait to talk to you some more, you sooo interesting to talk too blah blah blah
Well if I am all that then why did you take off without another word? You know I would never treat people that way, if I were to lose interest I would say so. Why give someone false hope? I just don't get it!
If we have the eyes to see there is beauty all around us. So often in little things. Friends that show they care, a touching story send by someone, music. Yes the clouds in the sky, the little feathered friends that come to eat. Yes a lot of beauty and a heart that counts it's blessings.
Your making many good points Barren. Why do people do what they do. Ego, playing a game, the same guys who asked me in the very beginning to take them serious as they themselves were they said.
I have had sooo many guys come and go I am starting to lose count. At first I am asking did I do wrong and if so what. I go back to their last email and read how they look forward to our next conversation etc. Then they are gone no explaination, nothing. Guys if you found someone who you feel is more compatable, simply say so! I would be the first to be happy for you and wish you the very best.
A few hours later, I'm back at the airport, waiting for my boyfriend's arrival home. He steps off the plane with the same groggy but excited look I wore hours before. We drive over to see my dad, who seems calmer than my mother had been. I ask to see my room, expecting to find my shrine, my old pompoms, prom pictures, candid photos of friends and dolls scattered about. To my surprise, everything is gone; there's not even a trace I had ever lived in the room. I'm starting to wonder if I really had been abducted on the way home. It's as if the second I became a "college" student, I had ceased to exist.
I start to wonder what else had changed since I'd been gone. My parents are in an awkward transition, wondering how to treat me now. They wrestle with whether to treat me—still their daughter—as one of them, an adult, or as the child they feel they sent away months earlier.
I run into two of my best friends from high school; we stare blankly at each other. We ask the simple questions and give simple, abrupt answers. It's as if we have nothing to say to each other. I wonder how things have changed so much in such a small amount of time. We used to laugh and promise that no matter how far away we were, our love for each other would never change. Their interests don't interest me anymore, and I find myself unable to relate my life to theirs.
I had been so excited to come home, but now I just look at it all and wonder: Is it me?
Why hadn't the world stood still here while I was gone? My room isn't the same, my friends and I don't share the same bond, and my parents don't know how to treat me—or who I am, for that matter.
I get back to school feeling half-fulfilled, but not disappointed. I sit up in my bed in my dorm room, surrounded by my pictures, dolls and mementos. As I wonder what has happened, I realize that I can't expect the world to stand still and move forward at the same time. I can't change and expect that things at home will stay the same. I have to find comfort in what has changed and what is new; keep the memories, but live in the present.
A few weeks later, I'm packing again, this time for winter break. My mom meets me at the curb. I have come home accepting the changes, not only in my surroundings, but most of all in me.
The Long Road Home As I arrive home from college for the first time, I realize many things have changed—in my family and in myself. Resize - Minus Resize - Plus I find myself packing again. Well, let's be completely honest, this isn't really packing—it's shoving three weeks' worth of dirty clothes into a suitcase and having my roommate sit on it so I can get it to close. This time is different; this isn't the same nostalgic trip down memory lane as when I packed before college. This is the "night before my first trip home frantic pack." So you get the idea—my plane leaves in two hours, and no, college didn't teach me to procrastinate. I was experienced in that art long before I stepped onto my college campus.
So now that I'm packed, I have a minute to examine my emotions about my first trip home. I'm excited. My best friend, Matt, picks me up, groggy, for our 4:00 a.m. drive. My expectations are that I am going home to what I left: my parents, home-cooked meals, friends with whom I shared distinctive bonds and my long-distance boyfriend, whom I have been dying to see. I am happy at college, but a trip home, to my family and friends, sounds like just the thing I need to prepare me for the pre-finals crunch.
I think I will catch up on the missed hours of sleep on the plane. Instead, I look around and realize that most of the exhausted passengers are students just like me. Below us, in the cargo bin, sits a year's worth of dirty laundry at least.
I miss my connecting flight, so I am later than expected. I step off the plane to find my mom frantic, thinking I had been "abducted" on the trip home. I look at her puzzled. I guess in a mother's eyes there is no logical explanation for being late, such as the obvious flight trouble. I assure her that I am fine and that I don't need to fly as an "unaccompanied minor" on the way back.
A few hours later, I'm back at the airport, waiting for my boyfriend's arrival home. He steps off the plane with the same groggy but excited look I wore hours before. We drive over to see my dad, who seems calmer than my mother had been. I ask to see my room, expecting to find my shrine, my old pompoms, prom pictures, candid photos of friends and dolls scattered about. To my surprise, everything is gone; there's not even a trace I had ever lived in the room. I'm starting to wonder if I really had been abducted on the way home. It's as if the second I became a "college" student, I had ceased to exist.
I start to wonder what else had changed since I'd been gone. My parents are in an awkward transition, wondering how to treat me now. They wrestle with whether to treat me—still their daughter—as one of them, an adult, or as the child they feel they sent away months earlier.
I run into two of my best friends from high school; we stare blankly at each other. We ask the simple questions and give simple, abrupt answers. It's as if we have nothing to say to each other. I wonder how things have changed so much in such a small amount of time. We used to laugh and promise that no matter how far away we were, our love for each other would never change. Their interests don't interest me anymore, and I find myself unable to relate my life to theirs.
Well glad you enjoyed this story. I posted another totally different then this one. "Truckers here is Teddy Bear"......he is just a little tyke. So far it has had not one reply.
For those who wish for some differents threads. I put on a nice story,
Trucker's here is "Teddy Bear"........he is just a little tykeIt has so far been ignored. I can bring many nice stories on here Yes should I? when no one seems to care?
Lol what happened here? Yes you are so right. You can hear him play and see the people scrurring past him. This is a true video as this was done as an experiement.
Welcome AmberRose; Go back in the threads there are 600 or more. Read some from there so you will see what we are talking about. Yes we understand all new to you.
A man sat at a metro station in Washington DC and started to play the violin; it was a cold January morning. He played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time, since it was rush hour, it was calculated that thousand of people went through the station, most of them on their way to work.
Three minutes went by and a middle aged man noticed there was musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds and then hurried up to meet his schedule.
A minute later, the violinist received his first dollar tip: a woman threw the money in the till and without stopping continued to walk.
A few minutes later, someone leaned against the wall to listen to him, but the man looked at his watch and started to walk again. Clearly he was late for work.
The one who paid the most attention was a 3 year old boy. His mother tagged him along, hurried but the kid stopped to look at the violinist. Finally the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk turning his head all the time. This action was repeated by several other children. All the parents, without exception, forced them to move on.
In the 45 minutes the musician played, only 6 people stopped and stayed for a while. About 20 gave him money but continued to walk their normal pace. He collected $32. When he finished playing and silence took over, no one noticed it. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.
No one knew this but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the best musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth 3.5 million dollars.
Two days before his playing in the subway, tickets for Joshua Bell's performance at a theater in Boston were sold out and the seats averaged $100.
This is a real story. Joshua Bell playing incognito in the metro station was organized by the Washington Post as part of an social experiment about perception, taste and priorities of people. The outlines were: in a commonplace environment at an inappropriate hour: Do we perceive beauty? Do we stop to appreciate it? Do we recognize the talent in an unexpected context?
One of the possible conclusions from this experience could be: If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world playing the best music ever written, how many other things are we missing ???...
hollandgirl Forum Posts (4,464)
It is difficult to talk to much about tomorrow as it has not yet happened.
Do you like to reflex about the past.difficult to talk about the future as this has not yet happened
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