Remember When.....

My memory sometimes plays tricks on my mind. As I age my long term memory seems to grow richer, deeper and more alive; while my short term memory is sometimes almost non existent. This week, I've had a couple of old friends post comments or send me messages and it has seemed to trigger a virtual waterfall of "back in the day" memories....or what I profess to be memory...I've been accused of remembering things that never happened. But more often these days I find myself standing in the middle of Wal-Mart with absolutely no recollection of what Tilena sent me there for. Then I realize I also forgot to bring my phone. Which also reminds me of the point...I can't remember my own phone number. Heck, I often walk into one room from the other only to...ah...ummm...err.. now what was I saying???

But forty years ago, now that's another thing altogether. Some things are so heavy and rich in my mind it almost hurts to dig them up. I have noticed that I can see, hear, feel, taste and even smell the memories through four plus decades of mist and dust. I can still see my Mom's shape standing in the kitchen while I'm outside on a cold winter day at dusk....the window is foggy with condensation and the smell of fried chicken wafts out of the house. I can still hear the sound of the shovel as I clean out those steer stalls and can still feel the heft of a pitchfork handle in my hands. In the spring those same hands would turn green from tending the tomato vines, and I can still smell the acrid scent it left behind. Do you remember the sensation of morning dew on bare feet? How about the smell and silence after a hard rain or the taste of saltwater at Dekle Beach? Even today, I don't know if my ears are ringing or if I'm remembering the sound of Cicadas singing on a hot afternoon. Sometimes if I sit still, the sound of my Dad's footsteps still echo down that dark hallway at night and I can hear those floorboards creak in that one spot. Cold weather makes me think of those frosty mornings when all us kids would fight for space on that cold wood floor in front of our single gas heater...yeah, I can still smell that gas from the old pilot light too. My Mother's voice floating on the breeze calling me to dinner is still fresh in my mind. Nobody ever called my name exactly the same way she did. Any mention of the 70's makes me instantly feel polyester pinching the hair on my legs, the flop of a ponytail down my back, and the roll of "earth shoes" under my feet... Anytime I hear the names Tammy, Billy Joe or Dobie I'm reminded of three lives snuffed out way too early. I can still see each one of them and wonder....

The memories all jumble up in my mind, each with a photograph attached. Some still hurt to look at, but most give off a warm glow and some even evoke a rich belly laugh. Many are likely modified by faulty memory and a young fellow's embellishment, but I wouldn't sell a single one even if it were possible. Some are desperately personal and not another soul will ever know...Sometimes I yearn for someone to share the others with, but unless you were "in the picture" it probably doesn't mean anything to you. We each have that private photo album in our own head. Different sounds, feelings, tastes and sights. Nectar of the mind. I think I'll sit down and flip through a few pages....I think my Mama is calling me.