Today a home day for me. As luck would have it, it was overcast with a rain/snow mix. However, the temperature was in the low 40s, so being outside didn’t feel all that bad. It was just that the weather matched my mood, which was kind of glum.

Rather than give in to it and go back to bed, I instead decided to remain active and ignore my physical and mental downtrodden mood. I began by revising my executive director’s report for Tuesday, and then I decided to take a look at and repacked Bill Fuller’s archival materials.

Bill and his daughter Emily

I went into my writing cabin and pulled forth two bins. It was cold in there, so I brought them into the house.

Bill made any archivist’s job easy, in one way. He wrote every day, in journals and in small notebook sized planners. He recorded everything going on in his life from the 1930s on.

He made things harder as far as the photographs went. Nothing at all was in order.

I felt torn about sending said materials on – if I had the time I could read it all, figure out who is in the photos, and come up with an accurate account of Bill’s life. I do lack time, but perhaps once the materials arrive in Amherst, Massachusetts, someone will figure out a way in which I might give an assist in this massive (and it is massive) project.

Looking through and reading the more recent journals and photos, I found myself traipsing down memory lane. I was good friends with Bill, and reading two typed pages, in which he bemoaned his less than perfect relationship with Nancy, I recalled one winter when she was away, and he groused about her, that is until she returned.

I remembered living on Cloudberry Lane, two doors down from Bill and Nancy’s place and how I was always welcome there.

The Cloudberry crowd, individuals in their late 20s and early 30s, was very tight. I am not in any of the group photos. And with good reason. I was focused on my MFA work. If, say, we were all to again inhabit the McGuire cabins, I would be more appreciative of this unique opportunity. Seldom do people of like minds get to live like this.

Our neighborhood here could be like this – and this may still happen. We’ll see.

There are photos of Bill playing volleyball in front of one of Sean and Bert’s huge buildings – I never played, and come to think of it, I don’t think that Pete did either. Too competitive.

Pete fit right in when he moved in with me. This made my life easier because I then was included in communal gatherings.

Non memory related – I found Bill’s 1966 notebook and was reading it this evening. It was during the years when he was working on his Master’s in horticultural science. It is very unlike his other work in that it is data driven.

He did lead an interesting life. And it appears as though his memory is going to live on.

Next: 101.4/13/26: Round and Round