In between the chatter, there are moments of a life.
Those that will be scorched into the memory banks forever. And some, become the hopeful quest to have it leave its imprint.
My mind? A Vast wasteland. Of nonsense. Useless expenditure of time and effort. I keep much of it within. Locked and No key.
There are the images locked away, tucked away and some jammed and stuffed due to the haste of wanting to forget.
Never to be viewed. Unneccessary.
As of late, I have become more conscious of fragmented thoughts. Pictures that play through my dreams. Is that real? Did that truly happen? I have begun to question the validity of my memory in relation to my youth.
Aware, now, and deliberate in my attempts to treasure, the image of the kids playing together in the yard, on this day or that day. To remember the little things, like how cute it sounds when CJ says "wittle" as opposed to little.
A touch of sadness attempts to creep in at these moments. A failed attempt to steal the joy of it.
The sadness comes from the knowledge, that one can not savor every single moment. Every single smile. And all the funny nuances that occur within childhood. Will it be this smile I remember? Or that one? The giggle?

I have been for years baffled by other people's ability to remember with such vivid detail, their youth. I have moments. Clearly defined moments. Yet I can not remember lengthy details of say a vacation to Hampton Beach or a trip North to Maine. Like so many appear to be able to do.
Early years? Pffft....Here are the pictures, the sounds I remember:
My cat ripping my new pair of tights on the first day of kindegarten.
My long hair, and how much rollers hurt to sleep on.
Going bowling with my parents.
Playing tag or stick ball.
Watching Karate theater with friends on Sundays.
Carol Burnett. I dont know why I remember it, I just do.
My brothers watching me when my parents when bowling. Okay I really dont remember them per se, I just remember my brothers were po'd they had to watch me.
My first time in a plane(was the last time too).
The smell of new crayons. New books. The perfume my mother wore to church.
The smell of Fall. Chlorine in the pool. My grandmother's house.
Thesound of bluejays, brings me right to my parents home.

I am sure if I thought real hard, more would come to me. Yet they arent prevalent, like right there at the tipof my tongue. My detailed memory kicks in about high school years. Then I lose a bit during college(I think that had more to do with my choice of extra curicular activities).
Now, I look at the Teen, and try to remember those little things. Pictures are a great trigger, and I can be right in that moment again.
Not so with my own childhood. I see pics, I know I was there(the pic is evidence of that...duh), yet there is no emotional attachment to it.
It bothers me at times. Sometimes it feels as if there was no childhood. Then at the same exact time, I know I had a great childhood. Weird. (With the exception of my brothers torturing me)....
Having been very solitary(which is ironic I had lots of friends), I would pull into myself. In a room full of people, yet not really there. Self isolation. One would think, with all the thinking and questioning I did as child and throughout my life, I'd have recollection of it.
And with all the muddling around I do up there, rearranging those boxes, digging through them....I wouldve found the key to unlock some of them.
In my quest over the years to keep me secure, that included locking myself out at times. Pinkerton Security. Secure. Unbreakable. Impenetrable.
What is it I fear?
I havent a clue.
And to really put this entry in a twist? I kinda like it that way.
Why open a locked door, for no reason. I dont need to go there. Dont have a desire to do so. In not doing so, in no way effects my life.
Shhhh.....Don't say it.

So, now I live within the treasures I do have, those keys that work. Filling the boxes with new moments. Hoping those keys don't ever get lost or misplaced. Creating new ones and saying to myself,"Thats a keeper" or, "Gee I hope I remember that", and I mean remember, like live it again. Even if it is within the quiet of the mind.

Treasures of the mind...in hopes that one day, someday, I may be allowed to view.

Peace
Jo

~~~~~~
"Everything comes to pass. Nothing comes to stay."
~~ Finklestein