Kim Priore

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about memory – for several reasons, really.  One, it came up in one of my classes, in reading memoirs, slave narratives specifically.  One author I read remarked that sometimes, especially in slave memoirs, the silences speak louder than the words.  What is it, this author asked, that we choose to remember, and what is it we will ourselves to forget?

Another reason is that in looking ahead to that big empty vortex after June that I keep talking about, in thinking about what I want to do with my life, and what others choose to do with theirs, sometimes I think all really of us really want is to be remembered.  To do something that will make a mark on the world, so that someone will remember us after we’re gone.

A third reason – and here’s where I go all selfish and self-pitying (don’t say I didn’t warn you) – is that a couple of times recently I have reached out to old friends.  None of whom read this blog, so no, it’s not you.  But you know, left random voicemails saying, hey I haven’t talked to you in awhile and really miss you, or in another case responded to a round of correspondence I didn’t start, saying hey yes I’d love to get together.  And maybe I’m just a loser, but when I hear from someone I haven’t talked to in a long time, I consider that kind of nice.  You know, to be remembered.  Someone, somewhere out there, had me on the brain today.  So I try to return those types of phone calls when I get them.  And I guess it’s inevitable that in the busy-ness of life that sometimes phone calls and e-mails like that go unanswered.  But it just kind of makes you wonder, what does it take to be remembered?  How long do you go on trying to make yourself unforgettable, before you have to learn to let go of one-sided relationships? 

On a happier note, and here’s where I talk myself OUT of self-pitying mode (see? that was quick) – I am also thinking about memory because this weekend (drumroll please) is the long anticipated, often imitated never duplicated, Newsies Turn 30 San Francisco Extravaganza ™!!!  On the agenda so far: a viewing of the cinematic tour de force that is Spice World, extensive analysis of any and all Victoria Beckham related news, hot tub, kareoke, and possibly Hooters.  The point is this, though.  (Yes, I said Hooters, get over it) – memories are great because they are the glue that holds our friendships together.  Also, beer helps.  (That was for you, Spiff)  But it’s great to have a group of friends who have known you for so long, say, since the original ‘what the hell am i going to do with my life’ crisis – and can be your constant sources of insight and laughter for the journey – who you know remember you, and who are excited to make new memories.

So that’s it for the deep thoughts, and look forward to a post-SF update next week.

The subject heading is a little Hebrew shout-out to my brother, to the recently returned home DC, and any other MOTs or wannabe MOTs in the hiz-ouse.  But the rest of the post is for me, and for the women (or womyn, depending on which college you went to) that I am lucky enough to call friends.  Eshet Chayil is the Hebrew term for the Woman of Valor, a character described in Proverbs 31.  Sometimes described as ‘the wife of noble character,’ she is really a role model for all of us females, single or married.  The passage describes a woman who works hard, strives for excellence, and provides for her family both economically and physically, and contributes to the community around her.  When I was in Israel, I bought a little necklace with the Hebrew inscription commemorating this woman.

Why?  Because we all need this reminder from time to time, “Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.”  According to this passage, the Woman of Valor, the Eshet Chayil, has a worth far surpassing that of rubies.  There are moments when we all get really down on ourselves, so I know I’m not unique in my insecurities.  We’d all like to maybe lose a little weight, see the skin clear up, shrink the Italian nose a little bit…wait maybe that’s just me…and we’d all like to see someone, maybe someone specific or maybe just anyone, look at us as if we were as beautiful and precious as valuable gems.  The problem is that, when that doesn’t happen, we start to lose perspective on where we should be deriving our value from. 

This morning in church we sang a song that repeats the phrase, “Your grace is enough, your grace is enough, your grace is enough for me.”  As NG pointed out earlier today at our Bible study, sometimes it’s hard to sing that and really mean it.  Because that means – I may never get married.  All of the things I’m fearing about the next few years – from the very public, job-related ones that I obsess about constantly to anyone who will listen…to the changes facing my family that scare me even more and that I only share with a select few – I may be facing those on my own.  My knight in shining whatever (tm Meredith Grey) may not come.  But yet I won’t be on my own.  Your grace is enough for me. 

And so I remind myself that Proverbs 31, and other role models of Godly women – these are the standard to which I am held.  I’m not supposed to look at magazines to figure it out, and as tempting as it is, I’m not supposed to look around and try to figure out what the secret is of all the other girls who seem to be lucking out.  I’ll never be them.  I am (Lord knows) 100% original.  For better or worse.  Take me baby, or leave me – as they sing in “Rent.”  I know that I am a loyal, funny, intelligent daughter of God and that anyone who causes me to doubt that, even for a second, is not a voice I need in my life.  Your grace is enough for me.

So for anyone else out there who’s wondering when it’s their turn, or what a girl’s gotta do, or what’s wrong with me – I’m reminding myself and you that our price is worth more than rubies.  And that there is a grace that is sufficient. 

And that as always, there is good food, good wine, companionship of friends, and discussion of good tv to get us through the tough times.