"Memories, light the corners of my mind, misty water-colored memories..." Nothing like a little Barbra Streisand to start off a column, right? Well, don't worry, there is a point to that; there is at least some relevance. It all started a couple weeks ago when I was once again walking to the hospital to do my community service. (Just a little side note, isn't it so cool how the most random thoughts come to you at strange times, and then really start to take on some meaning in your life? Okay, maybe it's just me!) Well, back to the story. I was walking along, almost altogether lost in my own thoughts about what work I had to do that night, how I have a paper due really soon, blah, blah, blah, when I hear chimes ringing from the slight wind in the background noise. For whatever reason, I start to look for where they are coming from. Then I see them, hanging from the ceiling of the house directly on my right. Suddenly I find myself sent back nine years in my life.
I am about ten or eleven years old, standing on the front porch of my old house in Plainville, CT. I see the round picnic table and chairs sitting on one end, and the play area on the other end. I could be out there reading a book, or playing "restaurant" with my best friend Kristen, or dressing up in the clothes that filled the Make Believe box. No matter what I am doing, I hear the sounds of those chimes, the ones with the wicker base and the hanging shells.
Just as suddenly, I whisk back into the reality of the present, and I realize that those are the same exact kind of chimes that my mom had and loved. I have no idea where they are today, probably still packed away in the boxes in our cellar that we just never got around to in these past eight years. I am struck by the power the clinking of those chimes had on me and my memory. I probably would never have thought of that particular set of chimes in life again, buty by chance I heard a similar sound and was able to go back and enjoy some past reality for a little while.
I think it's so important to hold onto memories, and I'm the kind of person who doesn't have that great of a mental memory, so I just never throw anything out. That way I have physical proof of something happening, and still have something to jog my memory a bit. Things like my very first valentine from a boy I liked from Michael Taricani from second grade, and almost every single rose petal from every rose my true love has ever given me. Some people call me a packrat, I just call myself practical. When I'm old and can't remember what I had for lunch, I'll still be able to reread all my letters from friends and boyfriends over the years. No matter what condition my mind is in, I'll still be able to re-experience some of the high points of my life.
Wow. A whole lot of corniness and a bit of shameless self-promotion... not a whole lot different than these days! More parentheses, to boot. Just for the record, I believe I spelled my second grade love's name incorrectly, and his valentine still sits up in a box in my attic. On another point, those letters between said friend Kristen and I provided much entertainment for us and our husbands when we got together a couple months ago. Finally, Teddy has been known to be snuggled some nights by each of my three kids, and currently lives among the many stuffed animals in Red's room right now.
The reason I have been thinking about this subject long enough to write a whole column on it is because today, as you read this paper, is my birthday!! (Sorry, shameless and blatant plug said only in hope of some nice birthday wishes, couldn't help myself!) I've been thinking a lot about past birthdays, like my cherished memories of my sixth birthday which brought along with it my very first surprise party and my Teddy who still adorns my bed. Memories are powerful, and when ones fly into your head out of nowhere, don't dismiss them like yesterday's trash, cherish them like gold.
Happy to be revisiting "college me,"
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