Retaining a retinal image worth a thousand words...
The timeworn phase, “A picture is worth a thousand words,” is attributed to Frederick R. Barnard for the title of his article, “One Look is Worth a Thousand Words,” which appeared in a December 1921 issue of “Printer’s Ink.”
Perhaps that’s the general idea promulgated by those who take selfies with a smartphone or webcam to share their photos on social media.
One who scrapes by without advanced technological gizmos, I’ll vouch that a retinal image is worth a thousand words, whereby a single memory can convey a complex story—one I’m about to share predicated by a wave.
I’ve become addicted to preserving the last retinal image I retain of my mother’s wave when we part company after spending time together. As I roll the car past the driveway and round the bend onto the street, I wait for her to turn and wave at me before she approaches the doors straight ahead of her. Sometimes, the wave is not forthcoming if she gets distracted by heeding the greeting of another resident in passing. Then, I lament this shortfall driving cautiously along Main St. until I approach the red light to the world at large.
For me, the last retinal image of the wave represents my mother’s status for “as good as things will get” in the grand scheme of life. Maybe not as good as they were, but good enough until the next time, and the time after that, God willing.
While I will always retain retinal images of ghosts past, too numerous to mention, here’s an excerpt from my recently published work of Nonfiction, ‘100 WILD Mushrooms: Memoirs’ of the ‘60s,' which preserves a single memory in words:
#99 – Tribute to My Mother
Before the start of my sophomore year in college, I wanted to quit because the classes I needed to register had filled up and closed, making me frantic in my attempt to drop/add, drop/add. Exhausted and blistered, I blurted my intention to you. Though you sympathized, you extended no pity, telling me I wasn’t the only one to face a challenge. But, you made a call to the dean, telling him in no uncertain terms that if you paid tuition, you expected me to get the classes I needed to graduate. The following day the dean opened up more sections for those in my similar plight.
As I conclude this story, I’m riding the crest of a wave until our next get-together.
|
How, where, when, and why we say goodbye is one of the most intimate stories we can tell. You just told yours beautifully.
Thus is worth the read ma'am
I, too, have an endearing memory that was videoed by my attendant in 2011, as I said goodbye to her. She cried and said, “This is the last time that I will see you.” I talked to her last week on the phone, but have been unable to get back. If a picture is worth 1000 words, perhaps that video is worth 1 million.
Ron