Been keeping it real, sista? Select! 🙂
It’s been a bit of a strange week. One packed with memories, or more accurately, ghosts. Echoes of things passed, dredged up from my backstory, cued up by the oddest of triggers.
Monday: During a meeting at work, someone (very kindly) offered me a cup of tea. It wasn’t until I drank it that memory kicked in. The tea was just like my Gran used to make – I know that sounds a bit daft. Tea’s tea right? Nah. I don’t know if it was the blend or how the person had made it. But what cemented the memory for me was the shape of the cup. Slightly triangular with a hint of art deco to it. For a moment I was back in Gran’s dining room; sat on one of her old chairs listening to the clock on the wall tick-tock and the soft ping and hiss of the gas fire. Outside I could see to the bottom of the yard and over the brick wall to the park.
Wednesday: I traipsed in through the rain and took a short cut though one of the old buildings. You know how houses and buildings have their own smell? Well the stairwell had one like my Dad’s old workshop. A strange mix of dust and a whiff of ozone. Again, another childhood memory of waiting for Dad to lock up after we’d been in town shopping.
Thursday: I was in the north of the county, not too far from where my (other) Gran & Grandad used to take us as kids (as grandparents are want to do). The town had changed significantly since I’d been (it was the 80s, maybe even the 70s) but again, it all came flooding back. Walking through town holding my granny’s hand as we crossed the road. Although now, that same street is pedestrianised.
The funny thing is, I haven’t thought about these memories in a very long time. I don’t look back and wish things were like that. I know they’re just snapshots. Maybe not even real memories, but imaginings of tiny fragments of fact. There are also things I would prefer to forget. Silly things. Moments of embarrassment or social gaffs. I doubt that the other party would remember, yet my mistakes ripple up. I wonder, if you could edit the past, would I – or would you – ever be satisfied? Would you tumble through time trying to make everything just so? Is it better to concentrate purely ‘in the now’ or do you embrace who you where?
I remember reading that much of our memory is made-up. If that’s true, can we ever be sure of what really happened? How long does a memory stay before imagination works its magic over it? Does it get distilled down to a capsule of words, smells or fragments? Gas fire, tea cup, taste, granny’s house?
Perhaps that’s another reason why I blog. To get down on paper – so to speak – my thoughts and feelings at the time. Of course, this blog isn’t a 100% accurate picture of me. How could it be? I only write so much and I choose what to put. It’s highly editted. Do you really want to read about project meetings? Nah! Me neither and I have to sit through them! 🙂
[ This week’s lyrics: Shakespear’s Sister ]