Memories

We all come into the world the same way: naked, wet and hungry. For some, the ride is short and for others the ride is long. Either way, it's more about that space between when the ride starts and when it stops that defines each of us as an individual.

While I don't lay claim to a photographic memory (unless one considers that a photographic memory without film or storage medium is sufficient), I do recall certain elements of my childhood and growing up years that have become in and of themselves a photograph etched into my personal memories photo album.

Like that long walk after I let go of Momma's hand from the door to Mrs. Christopher's room to the desk she had placed my name on when I started first grade.

Or the time that I found out that you can bring lightening bugs in at night for a personal 'fireworks show' in an old mayonaisse jar.

These aren't necessarily startling moments of clarity or insight. They are just part of the album that makes up the moments that have become my life.

In the years since I became (allegedly) an adult, I have missed some of the things that are part of a childhood in a rural place in the American South. Like making homeade ice cream in a hand crank churn that required every child to have a turn before the ice cream could be dished up.

Or eating watermelon so refreshingly cold and tasty on a 4th of July so hot and sunny that you would swear you could see the heat waves rising from the pavement as if passing through the desert toward an oasis.

And the sublime joy of being the winner of a game of 'freeze tag' across the neighborhood yards just at dusk when all of the lights in the houses and out on the porches were coming on heralding the safe conclusion of another day.

There are a lot of little random bits off the floor of life that we can all share with one another. There is no eight second rule when it comes to picking them up and making them our own or bringing a bit of joy to our days. The little bits are worth noting because they are not so overwhelming or large that they prevent us from picking them up, sharing them, and enjoying them over and over again.

Some days are just made for reminiscing over those random bits that have made us who we have become.