There are those that remember details that astound me. One of my brothers is like that. He will say things like: In 1972 I was here or there doing this and that. Others will say things like: It was June 20th when I first heard that song. I don't remember anything in this sort of detail. I remember things like: I was leaning against the wall and so and so was dancing at that party wearing a pink dress but if pressed for the date or whereabouts of the memory I will not recall.
I take pictures in my heard and once the pieces are arranged correctly in my memory then I am able to remember the entire scene. I need the entire stage set before I can remember a specific detail.
Some people have exclaimed to me, upon my saying: I don't remember, that they just can't believe it. They are even more astounded when it was me that initiated the event they are speaking of. I need clues given to me to remember the entire event. I have thought long about this quirk of mine and I think it stems from my need to layer meaning and beauty on the context of my own life. Specifically I find most details in life to be worth forgetting and being that art is very important to me in a nourishing way, I find myself composing, sound, colour, movement, and light - perhaps as a photographer does when gazing through a view finder for picture composition. I am looking for compositions of beauty. I am always attempting to see the things around me at their most beautiful. In their best light I might say. I compose my memories. I hear something here, see something there, watch something happen beyond a shoulder, and I compose this snippets in my head. As a writer I am always listening to conversations that I can rewrite and blend with my own thoughts and ideas. Most of what happens between those spaces is inconsequential to me.
I remember the way faces and eyes crinkle when they smile, when heads are thrown back in laughter. I recall the sounds of voices when they are unique and grand seducing me in. I remember people who are not particularly handsome or pretty suddenly looking gorgeous when they finally shine on their own. I retain the memory of breezes that move hair in a particular way reminding me of a classical painting. I remember everyone who claims to not own a cell phone, a TV, or a computer. I always recall the quick witted and funny. Honestly, I remember all of those that have made me laugh hard; how can one forget those that bring moments of joy? I re-visualize nature when it is stupendous.
In some ways one can say that my memory edits. I do edit my own life, my experiences. I am trying to get to the end with joy in my heart and I do not see this as a feasible goal if all I remember are bad things. I'd rather let them go and move on. I'd rather lay alone at night, perhaps on my death bed, and have a life of beauty traipse through my mind. What's to apologize for?
I will never forget the Canadian Rockies and their size surpassing any skyscraper I'd ever seen. They had a 3-D quality that I found almost overwhelming and frightening. They looked like ancient animals waiting to thaw. I will never forget John tenderly jutting his head forward from a wasted and weak body so that I could trim his mustache. I recall with warmth David taking me in a refurbished Bentley to the hot springs in Oregon with a case of champagne which we drank in watery warmth as the snow fell all around us. I shall always smile when I think of the night Deirdre and I played tag on the 1st Avenue bus in the dead of night making the driver laugh. I remember the smell of pillows when someone I love has once laid their head.
Who is to say what one should remember or what is memorable? Shared experiences don't always translate to shared memories. There is the caveat whereby two people experience the same thing very differently disbelieving the other person's experience of the same event. I like the way I remember things. What is a memory anyway but something which fades with time.
I take pictures in my heard and once the pieces are arranged correctly in my memory then I am able to remember the entire scene. I need the entire stage set before I can remember a specific detail.
Some people have exclaimed to me, upon my saying: I don't remember, that they just can't believe it. They are even more astounded when it was me that initiated the event they are speaking of. I need clues given to me to remember the entire event. I have thought long about this quirk of mine and I think it stems from my need to layer meaning and beauty on the context of my own life. Specifically I find most details in life to be worth forgetting and being that art is very important to me in a nourishing way, I find myself composing, sound, colour, movement, and light - perhaps as a photographer does when gazing through a view finder for picture composition. I am looking for compositions of beauty. I am always attempting to see the things around me at their most beautiful. In their best light I might say. I compose my memories. I hear something here, see something there, watch something happen beyond a shoulder, and I compose this snippets in my head. As a writer I am always listening to conversations that I can rewrite and blend with my own thoughts and ideas. Most of what happens between those spaces is inconsequential to me.
I remember the way faces and eyes crinkle when they smile, when heads are thrown back in laughter. I recall the sounds of voices when they are unique and grand seducing me in. I remember people who are not particularly handsome or pretty suddenly looking gorgeous when they finally shine on their own. I retain the memory of breezes that move hair in a particular way reminding me of a classical painting. I remember everyone who claims to not own a cell phone, a TV, or a computer. I always recall the quick witted and funny. Honestly, I remember all of those that have made me laugh hard; how can one forget those that bring moments of joy? I re-visualize nature when it is stupendous.
In some ways one can say that my memory edits. I do edit my own life, my experiences. I am trying to get to the end with joy in my heart and I do not see this as a feasible goal if all I remember are bad things. I'd rather let them go and move on. I'd rather lay alone at night, perhaps on my death bed, and have a life of beauty traipse through my mind. What's to apologize for?
I will never forget the Canadian Rockies and their size surpassing any skyscraper I'd ever seen. They had a 3-D quality that I found almost overwhelming and frightening. They looked like ancient animals waiting to thaw. I will never forget John tenderly jutting his head forward from a wasted and weak body so that I could trim his mustache. I recall with warmth David taking me in a refurbished Bentley to the hot springs in Oregon with a case of champagne which we drank in watery warmth as the snow fell all around us. I shall always smile when I think of the night Deirdre and I played tag on the 1st Avenue bus in the dead of night making the driver laugh. I remember the smell of pillows when someone I love has once laid their head.
Who is to say what one should remember or what is memorable? Shared experiences don't always translate to shared memories. There is the caveat whereby two people experience the same thing very differently disbelieving the other person's experience of the same event. I like the way I remember things. What is a memory anyway but something which fades with time.
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