Living Memories

I’ve lost a lot of my childhood memories, at least in a cohesive form. It’s like pieces of a mosaic that are just lying around on a table, not formed into any form. The ice storm in Charleston, or the hurricane where I tied my prized Teddy to the legs of the little table in my room to keep him safe. The bees chasing my PB&J at lunch at Pinewood Elementary. Watching Kennedy’s funeral with my Teddy wearing Dad’s medals, solemn as Emperor Haile Selassie. Leaving Tallahassee in as a hurricane hit, with a violently ill cat in a makeshift laundry hamper carrier.

They are beads from a necklace long since broken and scattered, with the vignettes of these pieces all that remain. It’s like a mental archeology, trying to figure out what life looked like then, even what is true and what isn’t. How do you determine the significance of what you have when there is so little evidence to go on? Is something significant because you remember it, or is it only one of a number of other events that were all like it? Was it remembered because it was the lone good, or the lone bad? How do you decide how the pieces fit together when you don’t know what the image looks like?  talks about the truth of being the center of her parents world; I wish I could have a remembrance of that type of truth. Truth is, what I remember are summer days by myself, riding endlessly because there was no one to play with….or was it that no one who would play?

And I wonder what my daughter will remember that I don’t, will find significant that would surprise me. occasionally she will text me a line, and I’ll go check and it’ll indeed turn out to be from one of the songs we used to play from a 3 CD set from the 60’s. Does she remember me singing to her at bed time? I had forgotten that one until I heard the old hymn in church one day and the memory of those nights returned. Does she remember our writing sessions in our journals, the origins of which eventually led me to blogging?

Time, memory, significance. All linked, none known.





Today’s post is inspired by this bloghop prompt: Write about your earliest memories.

Emily at the waiting spends all the livelong day in tasks large and small relating to the health and wellbeing of her precious tot Cee. One day, when Cee is an accomplished young lady, will she remember the times when her Mama cut her peanut butter and jelly sandwiches just so, the days when Cee climbed the slide and went down over and over, or any of the other daily routines that once made up her teeny tiny world? It would seem only fitting that the child be able to recall something of those most important years during which Emily will have worked harder than she has ever worked before.

In her blog hop prompt Emily referred to the term “childhood amnesia”, meaning  the inability of many adults to access early memories. I don’t really like that…

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