“Memories are hunting horns Whose sound dies on the wind.”

This morning is the nicest way to start any day. It is dry and cool because last night’s rain drove away the heat and the humidity. I get to turn off my air conditioner and open windows and doors.

Last night was play night, and I saw an Agatha Christie play based on a book I have no memory of reading, The Hollow. When I went hunting to find out more, I discovered the title had been changed for the US edition, not unusual for a Christie novel. Here it was called Murder After Hours. The novel featured Poirot who was not in the play at all. I suspect Dame Christie would be pleased as she believed her having added Poirot to the mix had ruined the novel. The play was well done and fun to watch though I did have a bit of trouble with a few mumbled English accents. The maid, Gladys, was indecipherable.

When I was in high school, I was in plays. I loved acting. It was a perfect extension of my personality. One year, my junior year, we competed in the Globe High School Drama Festival. I remember Sister Corita was our director. She took us out of classes to rehearse, the best perk of them all. We went to the church hall and she sat, watched, criticized and applauded. We’d do a scene then stop to listen to her comments. The only suggestion I still remember was to place the phone receiver on the base opposite its usual placement to make it easier for another character to pick up. I remember little of the competition maybe because we didn’t place, but we did come home with a couple of jars for the biology lab. My friend Jimmy and I took a self-guided tour of the school where the competition was held. We looked into the biology lab which was filled with jars of different specimens floating in formaldehyde. A teacher was working in the room. We told him how impressed we were with his collection, and that we came from an almost brand new school with no collection. He gave us each a bottle filled with I don’t remember what and also a note with permission to take the jars. I do remember the jars were big and heavy.

I won’t ever understand why some events are permanently and vividly preserved in my memory drawers while other memories are sketchy blurs of time. I remember the jars but not the competition. I remember the heat upon landing in Ghana but not the welcoming oompah band playing on the tarmac. I remember waiting in line to go into the auditorium for my college graduation, but I don’t remember the graduation. I remember my father ordering me a daiquiri once before I was twenty-one when we were out to dinner. It was at Mildred’s. That’s it, the only memory of the entire evening.

I believe these pieces of my memories have significance and are in themselves important events. The landing in Ghana is easy, the jars not so easy. I can’t control which memories stay or which memories vanish over time. I just sort of smile and let my mind go back. That’s the fun of it all.

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8 Comments on ““Memories are hunting horns Whose sound dies on the wind.””

  1. olof1 Says:

    That book might be one of the very few Agatha Christie novels I haven’t read because I have absolutely no memory of it at all 🙂 But why do they try to speak with an English accent if they really can’t 🙂 It’s better if they all just used American accents which are more familiar to them. We don’t have that particular problem since all plays are translated to Swedish 🙂

    Yes why do memories work as they do? It is like when comparing memories with friends who were at the same place at the same time and sometimes it sounds as if we were at two different places 🙂

    Cold here today, as warmest today. lots of misty rain, You know the kind that eats its way in to the body and chills you down totally. No wind and almost no insects though so it wasn’t all bad 🙂 Tomorrow will be warmer again but the low pressures stand in line to fly over this country.

    Have a great day!

    • katry Says:

      That’s amazing that we don’t remember that novel. I thought I’d read them all. Most of them had good English accent, but that maid was bad, mumbly. I’m glad she had a small part.

      Police would tell you that few eyewitnesses agree on what they saw.

      I know exactly what you are describing with that rain. You don’t feel warm for a really long time as you were chilled to the bone. I fond getting into the house and bundling helps.

      Have a great evening!!

      • olof1 Says:

        I should at least have remembered the Swedish title if I had read it. For some reason they have used a word that is more like the Pit than the Hollow. Now I must see if I can find it 🙂

      • katry Says:

        I must have read it, but I just don’t remember. Maybe I’ll have to hunt it down too.

  2. Caryn Says:

    Hi Kat,
    That must have been one wicked strong daiquiri to blank the whole evening. 🙂

    Was it THE Sister Corita of the Dorchester gas tank? Wow.

    I haven’t read that Christie book either. I’ll have to look it up because I was pretty sure I had read everything by now.

    It is funny what things stick in the mind. Then there are the memories that suddenly show up after being somewhere else for decades. Usually those are wince-makers but they can be surprisingly pleasant ones, too.
    I have a memory that I keep forgetting that I remember. It involves petting an adult male Bengal tiger. It’s possible that I keep forgetting to remember I did it because I’m not really that stupid nor was I at the time.

    It’s beautiful here today. Cool, breezy, not humid. The AC is off as are the fans. The windows are all open. Ahhhh.

    Enjoy the day.

    • katry Says:

      Hi Caryn,
      I figure it was because the evening in itself wasn’t memorable, only the shock of my father ordering me a drink. That was way out of character and something I’ve remembered because of that.

      No, I wish it were that Sister Corita. It was my second year Latin teacher Sister Corita.

      That’s a great memory, the Bengal tiger, something so unusual I’d never forget it either. I can understand why that stays with you.

      Beautiful here as well. It’s also a windows are wide opened day here so I get to smell the outside air, hear the birds and my neighbors.

  3. Bob Says:

    I think that memories are filled with our most important perceptions. When you landed in Ghana the heat made the big impression and not the band. If you go to a concert you probably will remember the music and little of the details of the venue. If you went to the concert with your sweetheart you may not remember the music or the details of the venue especially if you got lucky that night. 🙂 If you didn’t get lucky you might not remember anything about your sweetheart. 🙁

    Clear skies and temperatures in the low 90s. Next week, while I’m enjoying winter in Brazil, we should hit our first 100 degree day.

  4. katry Says:

    You are so right about the heat as it is my first memory just out of the plane. My friend Ralph remembers the band.

    A spark from an event glows longer sometimes than the event itself.

    My neighbor and her 3 children just left to visit family in Brazil, but it is hot where she is going.

    You enjoy that cooler weather while you can!

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