Surviving

Feeling the warmth of the sun on a cloudy day. A glimpse into a blind billy goat's unique, ever changing perspectives.

2014 06 07 Thanks for the Memories June 7, 2014

I remembered something the other day. I recollected the look, the feel, the senses surrounding a certain moment, and for a second, I was there. It seemed like it happened just a moment ago, but as I thought back, and remembered some more, I realized that it had happened about fifteen years earlier. I shook my head and muttered to myself, “My, oh my, oh my, where has the time gone?”

 

For a moment or three, I had lost my place in time. For a minute or two, I found myself in my past. For an instant, the instant was staring me right in the face,and I remembered.

 

Memories are quite amazing when you get right down to it. They are yours, and no one else’s. Some others might remember the same moment in time, but they will never remember that moment as you do. It’s the same, but it’s different.

 

I rely on my memories so much these days. I count on them to remind me of how things are, how they should be and how my surroundings must look. I know that my imagination helps to fill the holes in the paintings of my day, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

The smattering of sun creeping across a cloudy afternoon, the sparkling dew rolling down a blade of grass in the morning mist, the moon dancing in and out of the clouds on a starry night. They’re all out there, and they’re all in here, in my heart, my mind and my soul. I am a fortunate man to have so many memories to fall back on. It’s a gift that I will never take for granted, no matter where I am.

 

I took for granted so much of what I had seen through my fifty years of vision. I was living a gift of incredible beauty and so often I overlooked it all. The river hurrying towards somewhere else, the waves crashing onto a rocky shore, a baby calf trying to catch up to its mother as they walked across the meadow, a robin stomping across the lawn, trying to find breakfast for her young. On and on the memories go. One after the next, side by side, from here to wherever the next one is patiently waiting.

 

 

Memories come, and memories go. They bring a smile to your face and a tear to your eye. They put a hop in your step, a purpose to your day and they line up in no particular order. They leave you alone when you wish, but they also have a way of never letting go. Some days I can see them lining up, around the corner, as if they were in a department store waiting for their chance to see Santa.

 

Some days it feels like I am living a memory. It feels as if the past has taken my day by the hand and led it back through time, back through the years to the place where it happened. I can sense, feel, taste, smell and almost touch that time in my life which made such an impression that I would never forget the moment. The ones that are truly amazing are the ones from my childhood that pick me up and carry me back to a place from my youth. Riding my bike down the gravel road, along the river, towards a swimming hole that still has my name carved into the trunk of a tree. A memory that takes me around third and heads me towards home, running so fast that my helmet falls off my head. A time from a smile that found me standing on top of the hill out in front of the house, with my Speedway sled cradled in my arms, looking down the winter hill I was about to carve up.

 

So many memories, so little time. Where on earth does the time go? Where did the time go?

 

I paused there for a second, and remembered. I remembered a beautiful woman lying in a hospital bed, smiling at me as I picked up my brand new baby boy for the first time. I’m right there, looking into his eyes as I hear her softly cry with overwhelming joy.

 

The time is gone, the memories live on, one at a time.

 

One precious memory at a time.

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