The Working of Memories

Leaving the house this morning, the air was heavy with dampness. Not fog as has been recent; bright sky, instead, aglow with rose and gold. Breathing deeply in early morning light, I paused. Took another deep, intentional breath. The smell in the air was striking. Another deep breath and I was in Cairo, walking the sand-colored street to school. Another breath and I was in Abdu's taxi on my way to Nazlet es-Saman and the pyramids. The scent brought me half-way around the world in an instant. It took a moment to regain my bearings, readjust my sense of place and prepare to drive in to work.

The most amazing moments occur when I allow myself to slip into those memories. Some may say it's an escape; I experience it as an embrace. The moments my senses recall the memory are strong. They happen without my permission; sometimes without my knowledge. When I took that first breath, my entire body reacted, telling my lungs, "Do that again!" I found myself chuckling. The images deeply connected to that particular smell have nothing to do with my current home. The memory was powerful ~ and assuredly welcome. A fantastic start to my day!

Are there particular scents that resurrect memories for you? Are they welcome memories? How do you experience these memories? Do you see things? Feel them? Do you other senses bring memories back to mind?

Keeping a Hold

I chose to find a quote to start my writing today. Opening Google, I clicked on "images" and typed in the first name that showed up in my mind: Salman Rushdie.

What?!? I've yet to read any book he's written. My thoughts about him are judgments. Why would his name be first in my mind? Yet, when his name flitted across my unfocused inner eye, I took a chance and typed in his name. What showed up was this image and quote. Amazingly fitting.

"Writing is...keeping a hold on...things...that go on slipping, like sand, through our fingers." The list of things I attempt to keep a hold on challenges the elasticity of thought and the continuity of time.

I want to hold onto memories ~ I speak them, I write them, yet they continue to slip through the cracks in my life. I create them as much as hold onto them.

I grasp at the grains of family, particularly my family of origin, only to find they elude me, sometimes to the point of mocking me: "Do you believe in our reality?" I have images, pictures of people who look familiar, familial ~ and stories which accompany those images. When I write those snippets down, I solidify that moment in time. I keep it from slipping farther away. Does writing them make them real? or were they real enough to write down?

What leads your list of things you are "keeping a hold on"? How often do you write about it/them? Why do you write your stories? (or why don't you?) What stories do you let slip away?