Leaving Manhattan recently on a wintry Friday afternoon we hit rush hour and my husband turned off the highway to avoid the heavy traffic. We were taking a detour through local Bronx streets when I realized we were about to pass my old neighborhood, and we decided to drive down my old street.
But it had been heart wrenching then to see the changes to the house since my parents sold it in the 1970s, and now I was sorry to see there had been even more changes.
Our property had spanned two lots and we had a large garden with a lovely stone birdbath, a garage and tool shed, a charming grape arbor that bore fruit, and on each side of our front door a beautiful magnolia tree – but now all those were gone.
And that recent winter day seeing the house again, now painted a garish yellow, I regretted that we’d made that detour.
But maybe Thomas Wolfe had it wrong, because lying in bed that night I saw the house once more – it was painted a warm brown, it was early spring, and our magnolia trees were in full bloom. And I went home again.
Knowing I write, my friend Betsy invited me to join Retrospect. I was already blogging, but writing to weekly prompts sounded intriguing.
Yet little did I know how special Retro would become for me and writing would be only one part of the experience; reading stories by fellow writers another; and building friendships across the country as we commented on each others’ stories the best part of all.
I’ve met some of my Retro friends in person, and hope to meet you all to share more of our stories, some laughs, and even a few tears.
It was the dark winter solstice of December 2020. Everything was shut down because of COVID, and vaccines were a mere glimmer. Life was suspended. Work had stopped abruptly one day in March—I was too old to risk showing up in person, and virtual options were poor—so de facto retirement came more suddenly than I expected. All travel plans cancelled. Lots of walks in the park with the dog, now with plenty of time for ruminating over life. Reading. Lots of time on the internet, catching up on e-mails, signing up for book clubs and meetings and zoom sessions. At Suzy’s urging, I said yes to Retrospect.
I didn’t know what to expect, and after sending in my first story was surprised to get comments on it. Then I figured out how to read the other stories early in the week and comment on them, and started to recognize the names and styles of frequent contributors. For someone who has avoided social media, this felt different and seemed like a safe space, and I valued the new connections and interesting stories. I still do. Life has taken me far from early days, geographically and socially, and there is nothing else that fills that ecological niche in my life.
Retrospective writing was new for me, though I wrote for work all the time. Each week a new prompt goaded me into recalling some bit of history to share–sometimes difficult to find or reveal, but the discipline was good. I wouldn’t have gone those memorable places otherwise, and if not now, when?
Two years later, I have a sheaf of stories in a drawer, travel is fraught but open and I have even met a few fellow Retrospectors in person. The site has had some technical issues and enthusiasm is apparently waning after seven years in operation. I am late to the game so it still feels fresh to me, but the future is uncertain. For me, this would be a great loss: loss of encouragement to write, loss of camaraderie on line, loss of connections. I hope this is not the end.
