The Richness of Meaning

I stopped myself from responding to a young friend’s Facebook post today.  In it, she was pictured, incredibly shapely and beautiful, wearing a horizontally striped dress.  The dress reminded me of one I had when I was also wearing such things, and looking quite fabulous in them.

I even started looking for a picture – one I know is lurking somewhere.  It shows me, standing in front of a very old car.  It was taken sometime around 1978.  Even typing that date makes the mental video tape start to roll.  It plays back 1st weddings and failed marriages, cross-country moves and babies who are now men – men now looking for women like my friend, wearing horizontally striped dresses; and looking devastatingly gorgeous in them.

I stopped myself from commenting.  I didn’t want to take her moment and make it sound like it was all about me.  It wasn’t.  It was about the meaning – the richness of those memories.  The memories I hope she will have, wearing her dresses like mine.  The memories that would have stayed tucked away had my friend not taken a picture and started a conversation that we will never have; a conversation on life’s video that never ends.

Here’s to the richness of meaning created by young shapely women, looking fabulous, wearing horizontally striped dresses.