Summertime

I would sit somewhere, quiet, always alone and think to myself: This second. I am never going to forget, this second. I would try to put that moment onto some prominent, mural in my memory so I could remember it when and how I wanted. I was around ten years old when I did this a lot.

The fact I was doing it tells me I already knew that memory doesn’t work that way. Everything stays packed away in little boxes until nudged by some other thing–aroma, place, the wind, whatever. Hopefully anyway, because when a memory is immediately recall-able without context, it tends to be intrusive.

Still, for whatever reason I wanted to play that game. I can’t remember any of those moments in particular even though I remember playing this game many times. Now I look for the the little nudges. I get near things that will be the catalyst for memory. I try to identify what will be the memory catalyst for a moment I am making in to a treasure: Rose’s perfume, lint in our son’s hand, the sun through a bubble.

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One Response to Summertime

  1. Bobbi says:

    Aroma does it for me every time. I love the mindfulness of this…

    XO
    B

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