Tuesday, July 19, 2016

The Present Past

There is only so much you can write about the past. Well, in truth, there is only so much you can remember about the past. A touch. A smell. For a brief moment, something passes by and you try to grab hold, to cling to a memory that is ever so illusive.

Some of you have mentioned that I bring back a glimpse of something you have forgotten. In the remembering, it seems that more comes along with it. That tender touch was from a grandmother gone when the child was three. All that remained of her was the tender touch, a suffering grandmother in bed by the window and a father's arms holding the child at a casket. A touch. A brief but warm reminder.

Little things from long ago create smiles. I look at a bowl of Cheerio's and say, "I remember you when you were just grain." Okay, so you do not talk to your cereal. Perhaps I do march to a different drummer. I cannot eat lamb chops because they smell like the baby lambs in the barn. The twins pluck off dandelion heads, and I once again see Brenda and I stringing them together. Hollyhocks made into little dolls and honeysuckle by the stoop outside of Mom Johnson's back door.

I sit next to my old saddle in the twin's playroom and smell the lingering scent of my horse and the barn. We are surrounded by the past. And, we are making the past.

Sometimes I wonder what will be carried on from this past. Hopefully, the memories will come with feelings of love. Mine will definitely be preserved in my writing. But what will be passed on?

Nolan is just the guy to say "MeMe? You remember?" Only four years old and collecting memories already. We made a new one yesterday. While the twins were playing with the little chihuahua that lives next door, I happened upon a little snake. Snake!!!! Obviously, I am not a fan. So I decided to make this a learning experience. I called the children over to observe this little creature. Nolan wanted to hold it and Emma, who was more tentative at first, concluded that it was cute. I stood my ground. The snake survived the encounter as did I. It wasn't much, but maybe it would qualify as a memory for the twins for one day.

We can open any page and find it written upon with our past. From Cheerio's to first kiss. From bird song to croaking frog. Our senses are full. I cannot write all of your memories for you. But I can rattle the door and ask you to enter your past. Just do me a favor. Do not forget that this is the present past.

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