Think. Think. Think.

ah yes, I know now...

Please allow me to thank all of my readers of “Rocky Point”. Your likes and comments mean a great deal to me and help to spur me on. I’m also thankful for the platform that Substack.com has provided to me. For so long, I felt that I could write. Still, my skills mostly ended up in technical writing, describing a company and its products, or in my latter career in human services (not that business is “inhuman”), highlighting the stories and strengths of fellow human beings who needed some help. At this point in my life, I have committed to six posts to “Rocky Point” each week, and the result has been the creation of original content (Joyce and Faulkner need not worry) and the stimulation of this dusty brain matter.

Last night I was dropping off a package at the UPS store and sloshed back to my car through Vermont ice and sleet, looking at the ground for slip-prevention, but mostly because I was thinking. I was stuck on some of my posts that deal with personal memories, and I wondered why they have lingered for so long in my mind. There must be a reason.

Sitting in my car, I suddenly mentally, not physically, slapped my forehead (there were other cars and their drivers next to me) and a simple truth revealed itself. So many of these memories are connected to essential people in my life. Family, friends, and of course, “me” as the viewer. With apologies to Christopher Isherwood, “I was the camera” in those moments. Without people, ourselves included, memories don’t exist.

So there is my father on Sunday night at the Port Jefferson train station heading back to the city and my endless tears (see That House. That Summer. Part I). Here’s Mr. Whatley, my manager at the finance company, encouraging me to take a mad drive to JFK airport (see Pursuit). Of course, there sits my Jessie and her toe games (see Piggy Market).

Then my fictional friends join my tales. The little girl who professionally pairs socks (see Socks) and the boy living in his backyard in a wooden box (see My Early Years).  These are characters that I would like to meet someday and give them a huge, comforting hug.

The floodgates are open, and the water is rising. So many stories are coming to Rocky Point!  Encouraging my teenage son to a death chase.  Defying shotgun-wielding thieves.  A romantic wedding interrupted by the need to count the checks received as wedding gifts.  Praying to ghosts in empty attics.  Hotdog mustard sprayed on the unsuspecting jacket of a monster truck fan. Crashing helicopters at the 1964 World’s Fair.  Childless mothers pushing baby carriages through quiet streets. Handing out paper towels in a mens room to strangers. But most importantly, astronaut John Glenn’s appearance at the American Martyrs Grammar School.

Thanks for joining me on this journey.  There’s plenty of room in Rocky Point, so please – tell your friends.