Evocative Thoughts

Memories of your life never go away; they are stored forever in the cabinets and file folders of your brain. Accessing those stored memories is the mystery. Sometimes, try as hard as you might, you can't remember that person's name; where you left your keys; or how you spent every summer vacation.

On the other hand, sometimes memories flood your consciousness unbidden, pulled from some dusty file by a certain scent; a familiar tune; an old photograph – evoked from the recesses of the past by an experience of the present.

This weekend I took my high school freshman daughter shopping for a dress to wear to the Homecoming dance – her first "date" dance. We talked about who was going with whom; which parents were driving; how late she could stay out; where to buy the shoes to match the dress; what jewelry and makeup to use. It was an unremarkable conversation for this place in time, for this time of our lives.

I dropped her off at her dad's, and watched her pass through the gate and walk down the long lane to the house, her stride unmistakable. And all of a sudden she was three years old. Her fleece hat was fastened firmly under her chin, the top-knot bobbing as she walked through the snow with the same familiar bounce. Every detail of that day seemed as clear as if it was yesterday: the trees twelve years smaller with their blanket of snow; the crunch of ice beneath our feet; how the light gray sky met and merged with the steel gray water of the bay; Elizabeth's cherry-red cheeks and purple mittens.

Just seeing her walk down the lane brought forth memories that I might never have willed appear on their own. I allowed myself enough time to remember the warmth of a toddler's hugs before focusing my thoughts on the realities of the present. That cuddly girl was now a disdainful teenager; divorce had changed the dynamics of our family; disease had changed the dynamics of my mind and body.

That's life. Memories created every moment of every day – securely stored until called forth by choice or random evocation, to be enjoyed or mourned - and then tucked away again. I have learned to appreciate those unannounced visits from my past – but not dwell on them. I'd rather spend my time in the present – even with my scornful teen and shaky body – happy with the daily opportunity to add to my personal memory bank.

Carey Christensen
October 7, 2003
 

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