thank you notes (esmé)(5)

I'm thankful for the copper bird feeder outside our kitchen window. I'm thankful for the squirrel(s) we named León who may, in fact, be more than one. We were walking to dinner last night and I had to admit that if we did a line up of neighborhood squirrels, I might not actually be able to pick him(her?) out. I'm thankful that I idealistically like to think I could. 

I'm thankful for the small LBJs  (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Little_brown_job) that come to visit and the ones that I swear I've never seen before that have bright red heads and brown tipped wings and some are more vibrant than others. They frequent the feeder more often than the sparrows and chickadees that I'm familiar with. They're more boisterous and have, with the exception of León, laid claim to the feeder. I'm thankful that for awhile I really liked to think that they were a strange type of bird, unique to this small tract of backyard land between rows of homes in Greenpoint. I'm thankful that I waited weeks to find out their name via google search. I'm thankful for the reality check. House Finch. Like house wine, unremarkable. I'm thankful that I don't remember ever seeing these birds before now. I'm thankful that according to The Audubon Society that it's very likely that I have and many place before. 

I'm thankful for selective memory. It drives J crazy, but it seems to be one of the coping mechanisms I've subconsciously (consciously?) designed, elegant, maddening. I'm thankful that some of my memories exist as vividly as when they happened and a lot of them exist like images in old picture frames, dusty, sun-faded and in lots of spots there's just simple emptiness. 

I'm thankful for the instax camera that I bought on a whim and the physical tiny images it creates. I'm thankful for it's crude exposure mechanism and the series of images that J and I started making of all 3 exposure options. We started doing these in Paris, on the Seine after spending the morning at the Musée d'Orsay. The sky was stormy growing indigo ink and we were watching boats cruise by. The École du Louvre stood out stark against everything (https://instagram.com/p/5VOoRZLBlw/)  and I remember feeling jealous that J had taken drawing classes there as a kid. This memory of the day is vivid, still in technicolor. Other parts of the trip are faded and some days have wide expanses of nothing. 

I'm thankful that as a kid I dreamed of Paris and the Louvre without really fully believing I've ever go there. I'm thankful that as a kid I dreamed of New York City without really knowing how easily I would land here, almost by accident after a roundabout stay in Los Angeles. I'm thankful that these moves from the midwest were prompted by relationships. for relationships. I am thankful that I can admit to needing such a catalyst, love, to encourage me to do something slightly crazy. I'm thankful that after years of not speaking, Los Angeles love and I became friends again this summer. He's back in Detroit and coaches a few really good swim teams and plays drums and we had a few really good beers and laughs at a dive bar in Royal Oak. I'm thankful that New York love and I had a crash and burn that I've still not fully processed. I'm thankful to have found out via social media that he got married a few weeks ago at a bar nearby. That in the photos he looks very happy and I'm thankful how starkly that contrasts to the memories of how unhappy we became together. 

I'm thankful for the holes in my memory. I'm thankful because they allow me to create spaces for forgiveness. I'm thankful that these holes also create space for torment and for what-ifs. These spaces create subjectivity and places where I can play with the difference between truth and reality and creating a narrative and also sometimes outright lying to myself. 

I'm thankful for these holes because sometimes they make the bad seem less awful. But they also sometimes make the good seem tremulous or contrived. I'm thankful for these holes because they are as much a part of me as the faded and fading memories and are as equally as important as the vividness of the memories I haven't let go. 

- esmé (4/29/16). most internet places: esmeawright

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