Saturday, June 27, 2009

Scrapbook Connection

I have a feeling that we are going to have some baby news this weekend so, I thought I would post early.

Obviously everyone has been touched by the trio of iconic deaths we experienced this week. Ed McMann, Farrah Faucett and Michael Jackson. The world took a HUGE cosmic hit. I always feel like we all lose something positive when legends pass on and they were all legends in their own right.

I was mostly touched by Michael Jackson's passing. Mostly because it was so sudden but also because he was a big part of my childhood. As a child of the 80's, you would have to live under a rock to not be a fan but I was much more than that. We listened to his music. We watched his videos. We witnessed on TV his global-shifting performance at the Apollo. We hung the posters, bought the T-shirts and envied those fortunate enough to see him in concert. His passion was clear in everything he did and it was contagious....especially to an impressionable starry-eyed dreamer like me. I took all my little visions of singing and dancing and put them into my admiration for him.

I collected every piece of information that I could about him and put them into a special scrapbook. Magazine covers, newspaper articles, posters, pictures...anything I could get my hands on went in that book. It was my attachment to him. I came across that scrapbook a couple years ago and I had a blast going through all the old memories. I enjoyed remembering the young wide-eyed girl I used to be. That was my connection to me.

Ironically, I had rid myself of that little piece of nostalgia last year. I was cleaning out a closet and I needed to let go of those memories to make room for new ones. I didn't regret my decision until today when I got the morning paper. Of course, the front page read of his passing. I paused a moment and remembered the feverishness in which I clipped those articles for that book. How fitting this would have been for a final entry. Fitting and sad. Fitting because he held the dreams of a younger me and sad because he could have been much more. If he were, perhaps, I would still have that scrapbook.

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