Posted tagged ‘memory’

“A box without hinges, key or lid, yet golden treasures inside is hid.”

February 25, 2018

All I have to rely on is my memory of the sun. It was here for a short time yesterday then the clouds took over the sky. It is raining now. I can hear it falling on the roof and that was the first sound I heard when I woke up. It will be in the mid-40’s today and will probably stay rainy. I have a couple of errands including the dump. This is the second time in a row it has rained on dump day. I’d wait until a better day, but the dump will close today and won’t open again until Thursday.

I have a pile of boxes ready for the dump recycle bin. Most of them are small. They have been coming all week as I have ordered all sorts of stuff from all sorts of places. Some stuff is for Easter while other stuff is for Christmas and one is for me, a new shirt bought at an end to winter sale.

I remember when boxes were as much fun as any toy. Big boxes from appliances became forts or hideouts. We’d bring pillows, a flashlight and a few provisions inside and stay in our fort all afternoon. We’d make a window with a three quarter cut on the side. It was the perfect spot from which to keep watch. Sometimes I’d even decorate and use crayons to make curtains. For some reason they were always red.

Shoe boxes were the best of all. They held treasures and were hidden away, usually under the bed. I remember one of mine held those two Scotties, the black and the white ones, which were magnets. I used to put the dogs’ noses together so they’d repel each other. Shells gathered on a summer afternoon at the beach were in the box and so was a starfish and smooth flat stones. Marbles sometimes made it. My favorites were the clear ones with colored pieces in the middle which always sort of looked like parts of a feather. Birthday cards, pins and CrackerJack’s prizes were also in the box. Most times stuff was added and seldom removed. Often, I’d pull the box out from under the bed then sit on the bed and lovingly take my treasures out of the box one by one. I always thought them treasures of great measure.

“The brain may die, but my compulsion for useless trivia lives on.”

September 17, 2016

3 days and counting!

The perfect weather continues. It is as if Mother Nature is apologizing for all that heat in August. The days are warm and the nights cool, even cold. If I were given the power to control the weather, I would first make it rain then I would create days just like today.

All over my table are sticky notes. Some are related to my trip like a list of passwords and a  list of things to pack I might not remember like the travel toilet paper, an essential in Ghana, another is new TV programs I want to DVR while I’m gone. The list of stuff I need at Stop and Shop keeps getting bigger. Today I added a small notepad and AA batteries.

Yesterday I set a new record at Agway. I bought everything the cats and Gracie need while I’m gone. I spent $223.00. A brass band accompanied me to the car. The band major twirled his baton as I filled the trunk. Most of the stuff is still there. Leandro, one-half of my cleaning couple, is coming today with his mother Lu, my pet and house sitter. Lee is always quite happy to bring the heavy stuff into the house. I, however, had to drag the heavy dry dog food, a can of dog food, three cans of cat food and a bag of treats into the house this morning. My back is moaning quite loudly.

The street is quiet this morning for a Saturday. I wonder where all the kids are.

Learning new things is fun for me. I have this weird memory which holds on to facts and information seldom needed. That makes me good at trivia. Once I was quite able to remember Ernie the Keebler Elf and Thimble Theater, where  Popeye first appeared. My team accepted Ernie but not Popeye. I forget which character they chose, but they were wrong. Coming up with Popeye is what I mean by a weird memory.

My sister is getting tired of me talking about Ghana. She doesn’t get it, how important the country is to me. I have all these memories rushing to the front from the back drawers of my memory cabinet. I’m almost gushing.

Well, according to my list, I have much to do. I need to be off and loping, not running-I am passed that.

“There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”

March 1, 2012

A late start for me today as I slept in until quite late. The rain continues. It started early yesterday and hasn’t stopped since. Gracie has yet to go outside. She detests the rain though I did notice she now goes under the deck near the stairs to do her business when I force her out. Animals are ingenious.

No birds are at the feeders. They too must be hunkered down somewhere away from the rain. The other day the birds swooped in non-stop at all three feeders. I just added a new suet feeder, but I can’t see it from here so I’ll move it after the rain stops. The feeder holds two bars of suet but it is a bit strange as the bird has to be upside down. I was assured by the man at the store that the birds don’t mind.

I never stop to think that I am in my 60’s. That has so little meaning to me. In my mind, I still think of myself as young. I know some of you will argue that 64 is still young, and I agree, but I remember thinking how old my parents were when they were in their 60’s. My dad passed away at 66, and I’m still a bit angry at all the time we missed together. 66 is far too young. I was reminded of that when I read that Davy Jones was 66 when he died yesterday. I figure he should have had at least another 15 or 20 years.

I am definitely far slower than I used to be, and my knees hurt. My mind has selective memory lapses. The other night I couldn’t remember the name of the star of The Closer and my friend Clare couldn’t either. We had to look up Kyra Sedgwick on the computer. When my sister told me my niece and her husband had decided on Declan for their baby’s name, a baby due in a few months, I told her right away that Declan was Elvis Costello’s real name. Why in the heck did I remember that and not Kyra?

When I wake up in the morning, I sometimes have to stretch to get all my parts working in sync, but I figure that’s okay. The joy of living far outweighs the aches and pains of getting older.

“Every man’s memory is his private literature.”

June 12, 2010

It is such a lovely morning. The sun is warm, and there is a slight breeze. I saw lots of birds when I was on the deck earlier so I need to get out there and fill the feeders to keep them coming. I’ll stay around to keep the squirrels at bay. I did start to put my ottoman together yesterday. I got the drawer done, but the other pieces are heavier than I expected so it will take a bit longer to figure out how to hold them or even prop them and use the screw driver at the same time. During the game today, I’ll give it another try. I refuse to let a few screws and pieces of wood get the better of me.

Memory is a funny thing. I remember long ago, but I forget a bit of last week. I figure as I’m getting older all the old memories are finding a way to surface and are keeping the new ones from settling. I have all these pictures in my memory bank of single moments. I remember wearing my gray spring jacket, the one with the zipper, when I rode my bike to school. I can also remember feeling the wind on my face when I rode that bike as fast as I could down the hill from where I lived. I know exactly where I sat in the third grade. My sixth grade teacher had thick glasses. They made her eyes look huge. I sat near the back. In high school, we had a small room with a stage. It was where the drama club performed one act plays. I remember my directorial debut. My star forget all her lines and kept repeating the same line, something about wings. The nuns sitting beside me said nothing. I died.

The first stop before we left for Ghana was staging. It was in Philadelphia, and I remember where I sat on the flight to get there and I remember the guy who sat beside me. I had several carry-ons, and he asked jokingly if I had enough luggage with me. I told him I was leaving for the Peace Corps in Africa. He bought me a couple of drinks out of guilt. When I was outside the airport waiting for a taxi, I saw a guy about my age with lots of luggage. I just knew he and I were both going to the same place. We shared a cab. The last image I have of Philadelphia is sitting in the lobby reading the paper. The front page announced Judy Garland had died.

These singular moments were not monumental or life changing, but, for some reason, they still sit taking space in my memory drawer, but I’m okay with that. I don’t really need to know why I’m in the kitchen. It will come back to me.