I was talking with a friend the other night and she told me how she was going to take her two young daughters away for a Girls Weekend. I started to remember the wonderful trips I had taken with my parents when I was a child. Some trips were only for a day, a week, sometimes for a weekend and once for month. I cherish those memories! I remember being in a camper trailer and not having access to fresh milk. I was so excited to go a whole week without having to drink milk. I hated the stuff before the trip, loved it afterwards!
More and more of my childhood memories started to pop to the surface. They had been filed away just in case I wanted to look at them again. For a moment I wanted to get lost in the past. I could remember the feeling of my father’s arms as he carried me to bed. I could fall asleep anywhere. I could remember the smell of my mother’s hands when she was baking in the kitchen. I could remember the springy hair of Beau Brummel, our miniature poodle when he had been rolling in something noxious and he knew it. Damn, he was a smart dog!
Sadly, I knew I had to put them back in the vault or I would truly run the risk of getting lost. But I knew they were there. Locked safely away. Or so I thought. My mother started to lose her memories but she had told me the stories so many times I remembered them for her. We used to laugh about it. What happens when I’m gone!
The stories that she told me happened to people who are no longer alive. Who will remember them! My stories, my memories, what will happen to them? What will happen to my Memory Bank? I guess the question is a matter of beliefs. What do you believe? Do you believe that we live on in another form or are we recycled into the ether?
I don’t know. I know what I want to believe. But I don’t know. If Heaven exists it must be pretty crowded. Of course the same thing could be said for Hell. I do not believe the human mind is capable of understanding the next step. I certainly don’t. I don’t think logic comes into it and that is where you rely on faith.
I have my wonderful memories and one day they will all fade into the Cosmo as will I. Until that time I am going to continue to make deposits into my Memory Bank. How about you!
Butterfly Sand 
Thanks for sharing your deposits with us, Pam. I don’t know what happens to our memories but I think some find a way to survive.
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I hope they do . . . maybe in a book???
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Maybe
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Maybe that’s why adult journals and diaries were so popular back in the day. It could be time for an old tradition to become revived.
Thank you for your memories.
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You may be right. Thanks for popping by.
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I keep filling them with amazing things Pam…from watching a butterfly to seeing the smile of a child. But the ones I have really cherished is those that spirit has shown me in many parts of my journey. They so click into place, each integrating with so much else perfectly. Each time I ‘see’ someone go through something, it perfectly matches with those around them as well. I always pointed the finger if someone upset me or barged into my world sideways. But then I began to ‘see’, and the amazement never ceases in seeing how perfect it all is.
So my memories are reinforced by the love I ‘know’ is underneath everything…unconditionally, totally, each time we take a breath. It may seem hard sometimes, but truthfully it builds and builds something so beautiful within…like the opening of a flower…to show the outcome of a path well taken, even if it doesn’t ‘seem’ like it down here, you will ‘see’ its worth at the end ❤
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That was so beautifully said Mark! Just because something is hard doesn’t mean that’s a reason not to try.
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Our banks are always building Pam, and slowly its worth begins to shine 😀
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I believe it is our memories that make us and we keep them alive by speaking of them to our children, our friends..Anyone who wants to listen really…lol…What happens in the end? Would we really want to know? A lovely post and very thought provoking 🙂
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Thank you my friend. I do love to provoke. (:D)
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Ha Ha I don’t believe that…lol
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I hated milk, still do, but when I was about ten my parents and I went to visit my brother at a summer camp and around 6 or 7 in the morning I smelled coffee, so I snuck out of our cabin before my parents awoke and took some from the kitchen. I don’t remember how I was able to get away with that with the people working in the kitchen. Loved it, but didn’t have another cup until I was a teen. Now, my stomach protests against coffee, but the smell is still divine, in bean form or brewed. Once in awhile I’ll take a heartburn pill and have coffee with milk. Milk is palatable in coffee.
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What a great memory!
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This is whay we write, Pam. Saving memories. It is why I take millions of photographs, a different way of saving moments…moments that spark memories. They really are the fabric of our lives. (No matter what the cotton growers think)😉
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A single picture can often say more than a thousand words ever could. And yes, I agree, we all save our memories the best way we can. Thanks for stopping by.
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