Scattered.

christmasssy

jammiefamily

You know. It is those pesky corners of my mind.  The ones with the misty water-colored memories.

Sometimes, I see these old photos and it just makes me think so long, and so hard about things.

Scanning the old family albums is quite the journey. With each photo.

Consider just these few.

This photo was taken at Christmas time, just before I turned three years old. There I am, sitting on my Grandma K’s lap.  I have no memory of this.  No memories of her.  I hear she was a very grand lady.  I wish I could remember something about her.

The only true memory I have of my Grandma Kronenberger is the night she was taken to the hospital, on the very night of my third birthday.   A week later,  she died.  But that memory is more about the overall experience… the seriousness of the situation.  Not a memory about who she was.

This makes me sad.
In this same photo, five of the people have passed.  A cousin.  An Aunt & Uncle. A Grandma. A Dad.   This makes me sad too.

The next photographic image was obviously taken on the night my sister Sue was headed to Prom.  Either that, or she was competing in the bouffant hairdo competition of 1967.

Either way, we are all in our little jammies.  From the looks of it, somebody woke up my brother Jerry and he isn’t happy about it.  Me?  I look so apparently elated…. probably because I am getting to stay up late. I suppose.  Again, no memory of this either.  Sad once more.

Dang scattered pictures of the times we left behind.  Could it be that it was oh so simple then?

Finally, in the last photo, a hoist.  From my brother Eddie, and our neighbor Jeff Monroe.  Jeff’s mom was named Marilyn.  Yep.  Marilyn Monroe.  She didn’t look like the movie star.  But again, no memory of this particular night.

I guess we have sketchy this and that… where our early memory goes.  Few adults can remember anything that happened to them before the age of 3. Now, a new study has documented that it’s about age 7 when our earliest memories begin to fade, a phenomenon known as “childhood amnesia.”

Dang that childhood amnesia.  I like to remember when I’ve been somewhere.  I spent enough of my college years forgetting where I had been the night before.

But seriously.  It does make me sad.  To think that I was this little person, running around, thinking, and saying, and doing things.  And I don’t remember the most of it.

I kind of wish our brains were like Google.  Where we could just “type” in a search, and viola’…. we could see it right there in front of us.

Instead, it is a little bit like running rice through a colander with really big holes.  Most of the memories, get washed right down the drain, but a little bit of the rice manages to stick to the sides of the colander.

My point to all of this?
….. I only wish I could remember.

 

People don’t realize that now is all there ever is; there is no past or future except as memory or anticipation in your mind.  —  Eckhart Tolle

Happiness is nothing more than good health and a bad memory.  — Albert Schweitzer

I have a memory like an elephant. I remember every elephant I’ve ever met.– Herb Caena

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