Cataloging Time

The leaves of memory seemed to make
A mournful rustling in the dark.
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

It’s been a while since I’ve posted a true blog. Not one of those “look at me” or “buy my books” style marketing posts, but a true blog—like Frank the turtle, Mamihlapinatapais, and other posts that most likely got you here in the first place. Apologies for my tardiness…

I’ve learned many lessons from my mother. An impossibly countless amount really. Some were for the moment. Others for the long run, the day to day, or the things she knew would eventually come to pass. One surpassed all. And it was never actually taught so much as explained with a smile and a twinkle in her eye when I asked her what she was doing one day.

“Making a memory.”

When you lose things or people, you will always have the memories. Wise woman.

I have gone on adventures, stopped to talk to bugs, and closed my eyes to listen to the sound of time standing still by the light of the full moon. I have memories alone, with other adults, or with the kids. My 12-year-old self loves whimsey and silly and spur of the moment memory making.  My “you only get to do this once” gypsy side plans things in great detail to make memories for others. I have told the kids and several friends the wisdom of “make a memory,” and in turn been told when they do.

Last weekend, I made a memory. Several people did, whether for their own vaults or as a cast member in someone else’s. Oddly enough, the memories I made did not involve me directly, but rather a cataloging of those around me.

Not only did I get to watch in fascination as eyes softened and memories were chiseled into that permanent space between first love and last good-byes, I saw old memories swim up, bubble innocently along the surface and then break into smiles and twinkling eyes and laughter.

I watched the old become renewed, relived by Four.

I watched the new play gleefully alongside the old.

I watched them all mingle and hug and laugh… and warm the soul of a hippie just by being there.

I watched generations of friends, family and loved ones, that affected or were affected by one solitary human, as they embraced him—his yesterdays and tomorrows. I smiled as old memories glistened in his watery eyes. I made mental notes as his hearty laughter created new memories. And I thank each and every person (and one dinosaur puppet) that came to celebrate the amazing soul living inside my best friend. They came from different times in his life, had different names for him, different memories of him, but they will all live side-by-side in his memory of the big 4-0. Thank you all. For allowing me to watch you all make memories, and for being part of a memory that will last a lifetime.

It’s Friday… now go make yourselves a memory this weekend!

One Response to Cataloging Time

  • Kelli says:

    from the original post:

    savagemouse: My dinosaur puppet and I were honored to be a part of the celebration. You guys are awesome. :)

    Meteornotes: “one dinosaur puppet AND ICE BAT!!!!” He doesn’t like being forgotten…

    Kevin Lucia: Best. Party. Ever. And only three hours away, to think of it…

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