We took the recylables to the resource recovery this morning, and while we were emptying the paper we noticed hundreds of letters and yellowed newspaper clippings scattered along the pavement, all addressed to someone named Polly. I picked up a postcard and read of someone's amazement at enjoying their vacation to Utah. I opened a card and read of a day when Polly and a friend of hers drove around the Illinois countryside and pretended it was Provence (but for the corn replacing the lavender fields they might have been fooled.) The newspaper clippings were from the 60s and 70s mostly. There were a lot of recipe cards written in a loopy script. Snickerdoodles.
Jhimm said... someone must have died. If it were me clearing out someone's space, even if I didn't know them, I might have taken all of that home. As it was I felt an incredible sadness grip me as I looked at the envelopes scattered around my feet. I was tempted to stay and keep reading until I knew who this person was.
And then, somehow when walking from the cafe to our car with a cappucino, the melancholy left me and I was happy again.
I am going to a class film screening at 4. I am back to feeling alternately melancholy and okay.