Bits, Pieces, Scrap, and Gossip
By: Bob Dumont
Tags: Inspirational, Life Lessons, Blue Insights, Journal, Inspire

Bits, Pieces, Scrap, and Gossip

Fragments of life — in longhand. Does anyone do this anymore?

Photo credit: author

On the day after Christmas, I start writing in a good old-fashioned composition notebook. I write in longhand — otherwise known as script, cursive, or the most recent iteration of cuniform. Each day between December 26th and New Years Day I write down the memorable things that happened during the year. The book goes back to 2009 and on the aged cover is the title: Bits, Pieces, Scrap, and Gossip (BPSG).

It is exhausting to look back at an entire year and try to remember everything that I deemed important. The January 1st deadline is a hard stop and I have never succeeded in recording all the events that mattered. My handwriting gets a bit sloppier each day and by December 30th, incomplete sentences and bad handwriting become the norm in the rush to get everything into the book. My wrist, fingers, and forearm cramp frequently from being out of practice. Other than signing my name, I only write in longhand once a year and even that has been drastically reduced with the rising acceptance of E-signatures. Years from now when a family member might review any of my legal documents they will witness the same script font that is displayed on millions of documents everywhere. E-signature is the equivalent of the modern-day “X” on the dotted line. This book of memories is the last place my handwriting truly exists.

I have no plans to replace Bits, Pieces, Scrap, and Gossip with an online version. Its charm is that it is tucked away on a shelf with its worn binding peeking out for anyone that may be looking for it. For the most part that is just me — once a year and only for one week. It is like an exotic flower that only shows itself to a lucky few.

My journal focuses on things that happened. It has memories of the places I visited. There are sections about my wife and kids. It contains brief mentions of unforgettable fits of laughter. It touches on moments of profound disappointment and also displays elements of concern. They are the breezes that have touched my face or the droplets of rain that landed on my head. It is a register of my realities during the year.

That doesn’t seem good enough anymore. This year has taught me that numerous storms have left me untouched and that I am wholly unfamiliar with their fury. My fortune of ignorance deeply shapes my perception and possibilities. I have to somehow account for the many realities, good and bad, that influenced the happenings of this tumultuous year. I have to pay tribute to the things that didn’t happen to me and how they acted on the thousands of decisions I made.

How do I put into words what is not in there or the countless millions of facets I have never experienced? This year we became painfully aware of unwritten truths and consequences.

We became conscious that people of color have an unwritten history that was hidden from many of our textbooks. Why didn’t I understand the pain caused by Civil War statues and slaveholders? I have toured dozens of American battlefields.

Why don’t we celebrate Rosa Park’s birthday as a holiday? I grew up in New York City and boarded trains and busses packed shoulder to shoulder with people of all races. Why didn’t we believe that the numerous deaths before George Floyd were worthy enough to spark outrage? Why don’t I know any Native Americans?

Perhaps in mentioning them, I belatedly recognize that these issues have finally have become a small part of me.

Bits, Pieces, Scrap, and Gossip has been a recording of my reality for the past eleven years. It is a documentary of how I raised my children, places I chose to visit, and people I sought to engage.

On the day after Christmas, I have to start to think about these choices and the broad reasons they happened. What actually defined my successes and failures? What shaped my engagement with people and my generosity? How can I be more peaceful? Who did I ignore? What could I have done to make others prosper? Who did I hold back?

I hope I can write about some of my worst flaws and best possibilities and handle them not as imposters or frauds but as a reckoning of the zephyrs that have shaped my thoughts and actions. I hope that I can uncover the shades of denial that have not been brought out to light. I want to find the aspirations of a flawed man who is merely trying to be better.

The day after Christmas I will write. I hope to uncover what will once more make me brave or a bit more kind. At the end of it all, I will turn the page to begin the new year with a keener sense of trying to know the unknowable.