Memories (more musings)

Isn't strange how memories are without fabric. They are wispy dreams of times past. And signify a longing for their return. This season has been a wearying road of memories for me. Every day there is a smell, a face, a breath of air that reminds me of something or someone out of my past.

A week ago, I stood on the back lawn of my Godfather's house, looking at the swing-set belonging to his granddaughter. With no warning, no preamble, no prelude - I was back about 20 years. I was playing on the front lawn of this very man's home with his two sons. Playing on a swing-set, maybe, but not quite not similar to the one I was looking at. Times were a lot different for me then. I was one of the few children with glasses and "buck" teeth around. These two boys were like brothers to me back then. There was no negativity about this memory, except that I knew that there were bad feelings surrounding this incident.

I remembered leaping out of a moving swing; I remembered sliding face-first down an attached slide; I remembered laughter and good feelings. Then, I remembered that I had missed and skinned my finger on some part of the ghost swing-set but I cannot form the picture in my mind. I knew this to be a part of the waif-like quality of memories - and instantly I felt the pain. My scar, long faded to almost nothing and long forgotten, throbbed with a pain like it had happened just then. And I smiled, because my remembering excluded the pain. Memories always exclude the pain.

Those were many years ago and we have never been close since those days. I know they have memories also and I know they think of me of the little sister I was supposed to be. Many moons, memories and crushes later - we are barely friends. I may never be able to share this memory with them personally - and that makes me sad. On the heels of the memory, the sadness of lost camaraderie is poignant.

Among the other memories haunting this season are the thoughts of lovers and friends. And I am constantly reminded of the fact that memories are cheaters. As comforting as memories are, they never take into consideration the pain of the actual incident or related incidents.

I remember a Christmas spent with a very special person at a south coast retreat with wonderment and longing. But I cannot quite bring back the bad times of that relationship. Those "bad" memories are dim at best. And the funny thing is, that holiday wasn't the best I'd ever had. In fact, there were some really dark moments. But dammed if I can bring back one of them clearly.

People talk about good and bad memories. To me, there really is no such thing as a bad memory. Memories are always good - the ones such as the swing-set incident. When the images play themselves over and over in the mind, those are the "good" memories. The "bad" memories are usually more out of a knowledge of something bad happening. But the images aren't as automatic as with "good" memories. Remembering bad experiences are sparked by the thoughts of such a thing happening. "Good" memories come unbidden - sometimes at the most inopportune moments.

The mind is a wonderful and deadly thing. Memories soothe, like balm. The remembered details are happy and pleasant. The not-so-pleasant, a distant thought - almost like a dream.

That's what memories are for, though. In your darkest moments, they provide you with a lift that brings a smile back to your face - if even for a moment. And if your recollections are clear, there is a poignancy to them because you know those times were not all rose petals; because you know there was bad intermingled with the good - yet only the good images are on automatic play-back.

This season has been one long road of images from my past. In your lowest moments, memories will plague you. That's a fact of life. And as painful as this season has been for me, my memories (the "good" ones) have made it a reflective two weeks. I've learned much from my memories in them - and I intend to use those lessons in this year - the last year in the 1900s. An historical year in itself - and I intend to make even more memories to haunt me into my old-age.

YUSH