Lives Remembered

Lives Remembered: Photographs of a Small Town in Poland 1897-1939 is an exhibit currently on display at the World War II Museum in New Orleans. If you haven't been it's worth a trip. I saw the exhibit last night and attended a screening of "Inheritance," a film about the child of a high-ranking Nazi officer who struggles to come to grips with the truth about her parents, mainly her father, and her own demons that resulted from simply being born to the two individuals.


I could write several pages on my views of the film alone. It, much like a film I saw last week entitled "The Boy in the Stripped Pajamas," raised conflicting feelings within my soul. I may blog about it later, but if you'd like to read my friend Sara's take on "The Boy in the Stripped Pajamas," you may find it here.

As I drove home last night, I realized the irony in the title of the exhibition (Lives Remembered) and my recent struggles. I remembered how I wanted to see the exhibit the weekend my parents were in town to celebrate my birthday. Instead, we went to the Insectarium, partially because I believed it would be interesting and partially because I thought it would please the guy I was then dating. Due to our trip to the Insectarium and due to my failure to speak up about my true desires, a day that was supposed to include the Insectarium, Lives Remembered, and dinner turned into something different. 

I blame no one but myself for my failure to see the exhibit that night. For better or worse, my most recent relationship was one where I held close to nothing back, emotionally, but likely compromised more of me than should have felt comfortable. When it ended, I was left with far more questions than answers as to why things didn't work. What I've learned is how sometimes, no matter our desire to know, the answers will continue to elude us. I am a very analytical person, but I reached a point where the analysis was crippling. Rather than remembering "us" my focus, thus, shifted to remembering my life and all of the wonderful aspects that encompass me --- the compassionate friend, daughter, worker, and human being. 

So this weekend, I set out to do the things I enjoy, the things that make me me. On Saturday, I stocked my kitchen with groceries from, in my opinion, the best grocery store in the Greater New Orleans area, Dorignac's. Yesterday, I awoke to a clean house with a fully (and I mean fully) stocked pantry. I prepared myself a wonderful breakfast and then headed to the dog park with Jacques. After an hour or so of him romping around and acting like a fool with the other pups, we headed to the office for several hours of paper work. When I returned home, I went for a long run, the longest I've completed in over eight years. And even though, initially, I didn't know anyone who planned to attend the exhibit and film showing, I opted to attend alone (my friend Tzipa joined me later). 

The bottom line: during the last several weeks I've experienced ups and downs. Making the adjustment from having someone in your life you look forward to seeing at the end of the day to being alone is not easy. The weekends, I've found to be the toughest. But, my efforts in the last few weeks to process the lessons learned certainly had their place and paid off. The processing, however, is over. This weekend was about remembering my life and what makes me special. Luckily, I didn't have to work too hard to appreciate me.

To keep in the vein of reconnecting with my passions, I'm off to prepare a lovely pot of gumbo at this early hour. I've invited guests over tonight to share in the warmth of not only the food, but also the warmth of my home, friendship, and all of the love that's about to go into the large pot.