Lost and Found

Sorry about the two-week break in writing. I've been in my head lately and needed to kind of zone in and away. And then I got sucked into My Space. But that's another story altogether.

The most important happening, and the one that has turned into a catalyst of sorts, is that I have been found. I didn't even know I was lost. In the process of being found, I have made a new friend from an old one and discovered that I might not be as alone in the world as I (sometimes) like to think I am.

Background...(It's a writer's convention that in this case must be followed. Jumping in epic style "in the middle" would just make no sense. It becomes important to the story as a whole, I promise)...I spent the first 1/3 of my life living a semi-gypsy lifestyle. My dad wasn't military; he worked for Bechtel, which is a very large engineering/construction firm. Perhaps you've heard of them? No? They were getting contracts in the Middle East before Halliburton was a household name...Fortunately; Dad worked the domestic side of things. He was a project management accountant. He would be sent to new sites across the United States to help manage the army of construction, union, and contract workers needed to build VERY LARGE THINGS.

The average time on a job was two years. About every two years, from the time I was 2 until I turned 9, my family up and moved to a new place. A new state. Somewhere in the Mid-West. I have three siblings. None of us were born in the same state. I was talking to my mom the other day, and she mentioned how annoying it was to have delivered under four different OB's...she knew what was going to happen (very fast, easy births...lucky...no wonder she had four of us) but each new doctor wouldn't believe her until the baby popped out hours ahead of when the ob said it would. But I digress...

When I was about 5 we landed in Robinson IL. I remember the house, it was one of my favorites...two stories, fireplace, big living room and a bedroom with a view of the street below. I found a ceramic miniature pig toy that the previous owner had lost. I took it to be some kind of omen and the pig was my talisman for a while. The street, in my mind's eye, was idyllic. It was the kind of dreamy, Mid-West town street with large trees and wide lanes that Hollywood would film on. I had a tricycle there...I think...it was a lovely place to be. I had a baby brother at the time. But he was 1 at the most. I ruled the roost and would begin my school career at Lincoln Elementary in the fall.

Best of all, there were playmates on our street. Right across the street lived the girl who would be my best friend for my short stay: Dea. We fell into a natural little girl friendship. She was a year younger than I, but sharp as a tack and could keep up with any and all of my mental imaginations...often beating my ideas out with her own. What I remember best are the games of dress-up we used to play and the long intricate games of "Heidi". She had the best "Clara chair" and we would argue over who got to be the bossy invalid that Heidi, the good girl, eventually saves from herself. Dea would win; by virtue that it was her chair after all...being the bossy one is always the most fun.

I ran away to live with Dea once when my mom wouldn't let me have my own way. We watched Strawberry Shortcake and by the time it was over, I was ready to go home. The shortest running away in history, but also the most fun. Speaking of Strawberry Shortcake...Dea saved the day at my 6th birthday party. She was the only girl who had the very rare "Orange Blossom" doll that would complete the table setting at my themed party. She very graciously loaned me the doll. That was the best party of my childhood. My dad even dressed up as the Purple Pie man of Porcupine Peak. I couldn't get mom to agree to dress as Sour Grapes, the female "bad guy", but having the Pie man there was treat enough.

I remember hunting fireflies in her back yard on warm summer nights.

I remember she had much older siblings, and how cool I thought that was, being that baby brothers aren't that interesting.

For some reason I also have a memory of her tied in with an eight-track player and tapes...but my memory is sketchy at best. That is my problem.

You see, I left. And part of my coping with leaving is to forget. I have only scattered memories of my early childhood...like most children. I thought I was normal in this respect. I have better memories than my siblings. Of course, I am older than they are. But over time...my pictures of Dea faded in to the other places I was. I have one photograph of us together, but I can hardly remember the little girl I was...much less the girl she was. Across the years, I would think of her. I asked mom about how to find people, if I could go back to Robinson to look for her one day. I foolishly thought I could send a letter to our old address and ask the new owners to deliver it to "Dea across the street"...I couldn't even remember her full name anymore. Our last move, from Michigan to California, all but erased my life in the Mid-West. We had to pack light, and any trace I might still have had of Dea was gone. Except for that one photograph.

It was rather a surprise when I checked my news list-group-filler e-mail box a couple of weeks ago and found a message from Reunion.com. From Dea. How many Dea's are there in the world...who would even know to look for me? Stunned, I replied that I was indeed the one and only Valerie Kesweder (maiden name folks...distinctive...yes...memorable, I didn't think so...) and how the heck was she after 20+ years?

So, the reunion of a friendship began. If by some weird chance my family had stayed in Robinson...I believe Dea and I would have stayed friends. She is still wicked sharp...funny...imaginative. She's a writer. A wife...a military wife at that. A mother of two young boys. An independent thinker. A painted and pierced lady. A home baker with a new food processor. A computer junkie. A graphic designer. A thinker. A friend. And now she is the traveling gypsy and I am the spot-bound girl. She didn't leave that same street until college...and has now lived across the US.

I am scared and thrilled by this new friendship in my life. Scared by the immediacy and the connection I am feeling across years with nothing but notes and pictures to fill the gaps. Thrilled, because connection is something I crave, but something I am only just now learning to nurture. So far, it's e-mail and My Space and the occasional on-line chat...I am happy with that. It's amazing to me to have been found by a girl I loved as a child and begin to understand, and perhaps love, the women we have both become.