Memory is a Strange Beast

DH and I were talking about changes in our neighborhood yesterday over breakfast. We seem to remember time very differently. Where he will look at a large event - a major landmark closing down and a new thing built it its place - I will remember all of the steps between A and D. For instance, there is a restaurant where we go occasionally. He claimed it had first been L and then had been G. I knew it had been L and then had at least three other incarnations before it became G. I was right. I also claimed that another restaurant we favored had gone out of business approximately 4-5 years ago, he claimed it was more like three years ago. Looking up the history later, I was again correct.

Memory can paint over details with bold strokes of color.

Memory can do that. It can play tricks on us. Memories are painted on with bolder strokes as they ingrain themselves into the brain. Certain days or activities I experienced when I was a child have a special glow, an almost surreal radiance to them as I recall them now. For example, I still clearly remember a crisp, cool early morning looking at a clear blue sky through the purple leaves of my mother's Italian prune trees. We moved out of that house when I was twelve, but to this day I still remember the floor plan, the room colors, and the alley behind it I crossed to where my best friend, Patty Carter, lived.

I grew up with Missy and her brother David. From
left, Missy, David and me. I was probably no
older than five in this photo, Missy was a year younger
than I was and David a year or so older. 

I had a great neighborhood to grow up in. There were kids all over, and lots of us were in a similar age group, so we played together all the time. Across the street and slightly down lived my cousin Missy and her older brother David. Missy was, and still is, the sister I never had. We stood for each other at our weddings, we mourned at the deaths of our parents, we were, and in many ways still are, the best of companions, despite the physical distance that has separated us for more than 40 years.

We were always playing and because there were so many kids, there
was always someone around to play with. 

There were at least six other kids on her side of the street who were our childhood companions. If we crossed the street to my side, we added another ten kids and if we continued across the alley to where Patty lived, there were Steven and his five brothers as well as Patty and her two brothers (lots of boys on that side of the block). All together, we were more than twenty kids who played together constantly as I grew up.

The Greek Orthodox Church of Denver was a wonderful building and fascinated me.
It stood next to the Jewish Community Center which stood near Augustana Lutheran
Church. Several blocks to the north was the large footprint of Temple Emmanuel. 

What I really liked, now that I think back on it, was the diversity and variety of the people we befriended. Although the neighborhood was very white bread, religiously, there was great variety. There were  Jews across the street, my friend Patty and her family were Catholic, and the remainder of the families were probably Lutheran. Although there wasn't a Catholic church within walking distance, there was the Jewish Community Center, the Greek Orthodox Church and Augustana Lutheran, a large Lutheran church, all within easy walking distance to the west, with Temple Emmanuel only a few blocks away to the north near our elementary school. It was a diverse and liberal neighborhood of middle class people trying to raise their kids to the best of their ability.

Age creeps up on memory, clouding and distorting its clarity. 

I was very lucky in my childhood and, indeed, in my life. When I think back, as time frosts the edges of clear memory, I hope I always remember that I have been blessed in life with both my friends and my experiences. Every fall I took, I landed on my feet, every chance I took, eventually paid off. I thank whatever Powers have watched over me for a fabulous life and I look forward to the rest of the journey.

Memory loss happens to most of us in varying degrees of harshness. 

How's your memory? What do you remember better? Buildings? People? Faces? Names? Is there one memory of your life you think back to time and time again? On this first day of December, reflect on your life for a moment and share one memory with me, if you dare. Happy Monday to all!