Creeping decrepitude, pulling teeth, and the Junior High ghost: A perfect storm

My love/hate relationship with writing dates at least to Mrs. Webb’s 11th grade composition class. I like to write when the words flow, but I’ve learned that, pen in my hand, they usually move like peanut butter. Most of the time, getting ink on paper (or pixels on screen in this Brave New World) is like pulling teeth. It hurts.

I read an article a few months ago that suggested that older minds could be kept in good working order by tapping out five hundred words a day. I don’t have five hundred teeth to expend on a daily basis, but like others in my birthday bracket (surely I’m not the only one) I worry occasionally about creeping decrepitude. I forget things. I call the dogs by the wrong name. I don’t remember seeing a fountain in downtown Henderson until it tinkles in my ear. I decided that if I couldn’t string five hundred words every day, I could possibly manage 250ish on a semi-regular basis and perhaps slow the creep. Like all self-respecting personal resolutions, that one has mostly languished. It’s easier not to write. And it’s darned hard to come up with decent topics for personal reflection.

While rounding the square a few nights ago, I snapped a picture of a lighted window in the old Junior High. Every Henderson Native of a certain age (but who’s still on the right side of decrepitude) remembers the story of ghostly lights that appeared in the building from time to time–a story, I’ve always suspected, cultivated by school administrators to stem the tide of vandalism. I posted the pic to FaceBook. Likes and comments kept my notifications button steadily red for a couple of days. I realized that Old Henderson posts are the ones that often seem to generate the most interest. They’re certainly ones that intrigue me. Voilà! I found a topic. Maybe. Sort of. Almost. We’ll see.