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And no sooner had we filled up an entire grocery bag full of freshly picked bright green apples, did they immediately turn to me and say, "How long til we can eat the apple pie, Ma?"
Yeah, I know, but how can I refuse? I want so much to know that when they're 25 and curled up on the couch with their significant others, and a sound or a song or the familiar smell of cinnamon and nutmeg wafts across the room, that they remember. That it fills them. That it even sustains them somehow.
I know it's silly, this idea of trying to manufacture memories, but there are moments of my own childhood -- little things like the feel of the cool grass between my toes, or the sound of the raindrops on the lamina, or the smell of wet concrete -- that are just so vivid for me still, and they warm me, carry me, and yes, even lift me up sometimes.
Don't kid yourself, folks. Memory is a powerful thing. It's so often a barometer for the decision-making moments, the life-turns-on-a-dime instances that can make or break someone. And I know we spend, as we should, all this time on life lessons, right and wrong, guiding and directing, empowering and enlightening, but sometimes...maybe just sometimes...in one of those deep dark hours when the weight of the world feels like it's on your shoulders, maybe the memory of a warm Sunday afternoon eating freshly baked apple pie on the back porch with the people you loved most in that perfectly manufactured moment might just be enough to get you through.
Yeah, I know, but how can I refuse? I want so much to know that when they're 25 and curled up on the couch with their significant others, and a sound or a song or the familiar smell of cinnamon and nutmeg wafts across the room, that they remember. That it fills them. That it even sustains them somehow.
I know it's silly, this idea of trying to manufacture memories, but there are moments of my own childhood -- little things like the feel of the cool grass between my toes, or the sound of the raindrops on the lamina, or the smell of wet concrete -- that are just so vivid for me still, and they warm me, carry me, and yes, even lift me up sometimes.
Don't kid yourself, folks. Memory is a powerful thing. It's so often a barometer for the decision-making moments, the life-turns-on-a-dime instances that can make or break someone. And I know we spend, as we should, all this time on life lessons, right and wrong, guiding and directing, empowering and enlightening, but sometimes...maybe just sometimes...in one of those deep dark hours when the weight of the world feels like it's on your shoulders, maybe the memory of a warm Sunday afternoon eating freshly baked apple pie on the back porch with the people you loved most in that perfectly manufactured moment might just be enough to get you through.
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