WHERE DO ALL OUR STORIES GO?

If you (or know others who) were involved in Foster Fitz-Simmons' production of Midsummer Night’s Dream performed in the UNC amphitheater, c 1974-ish, you might find the following to still be newsworthy.

This fun and lively presentation--as only Foster could render--was directly proceeded by an injurious, discordant aftermath (even breakups) among the monogamously-committed players. From its very nature, there would be no following announcements to publicly emerge of trust lost. Had sharing ensued, a logically inspired, misunderstood genesis would have been exchanged for understanding that would have kept both reputation and loved intact, following the MND curtain call.

As Lysander's sig other, I responded by upping the stakes--after our joint, arduous struggle to secure a remedy. It wasn't until years later that I'd learn--in unrelated social repartee that a certain discovery had necessitated a thorough delousing of the UNC dept. of drama's costume wardrobe.

What a rich life this has been for us; one long unbroken thread of so many wonderful stories...what happens to them all? Where do they go? I don't imagine the current gen and future ones ever again being equipped to sufficiently devote attention or recognize anything beyond the superficial exterior of life’s process. The unfolding of time infinitely continues to be rich with countless wondrous details. Time (or lack of it,) often gets the blame for diminishing desire to notice anything not found in one’s day-planning app. Certainly a major player in the dumbing-down of the world. And just because we can’t define  (and subsequently file away) something doesn’t mean we can’t still appreciate it.

Each of us has an opportunity to experience more of what might first seem to be extraneous details and people, yet it’s these that differentiate the days and add color to our stories. In declining years, it’s  the way we perceived these stories belonging to  us--more as adventures--that will comprise our memories. And as we slow down and become less mobile, we will depend more on these stored-up reflections to carry us onward.

The ones that (as Chapel Icon Jim Cannon once proclaimed,) "punctuate" life.