I thought it would be fair for me to acknowledge my one-month absence from this blog. One of two things happens regarding writing when I have a lot of emotion happening at once. I either write everything down to get it all out (sometimes blogging twice a day or writing five pages in the book I keep in my bag does the trick). Or, I don't write anything at all, and it all gets wedged deep down in me in great slabs of unknownness. Started and ended lots of things in my life this last month; that was part of it. I can't tell you how many times I began a blog, wrote a few sentences, and then trashed it to my drafts. It doesn't feel natural nor healthy to not be keeping track, though; so, enough with that.
On another note, I've been reading a book called The History of Love. It's been making me think about a lot of things. But mostly, as of late, what a memory looks like. If you follow my blog and are willing to comment, I'd like to know how they make you think too.
When I remember something, I see a snapshot of it in my head. When I think of sophomore year, I see two pictures of the building I lived in, one of it in the day with a brilliant blue sky behind it and one at night with the lamp lights all lit. When I think of the month of July, I picture the dusk, the sun has just set, the sky is pinking, and I'm standing by the field by my house; the lightning bugs are just beginning to blink off and on, and the tree, split by lightning, is growing darker in the shadows. When I remember my Grandma Fran, I see her sitting in a lawn chair right outside the garage in the hot summer sun, and my Grandpa Bob, I see him sitting at the old piano in the basement playing The Entertainer.
When I hear songs from my past, I can easily name the year I listened to them over and over again on repeat in my car. I remember years in emotions - a lot of the actual things that happened any given week in my life are lost, but I can feel quite clearly.
I've heard that scents are the most powerful memory triggers. Elsie walked into the apartment the other day and exclaimed that it smelled like when we lived on The Row, and she felt like she was in that year again. The perfume that Amy always wore in high school - it was something with a French name from a clothing store with loud music and dim lights that we all shopped at; it smelled like the waterfront and woods at the same time. If I smell it, it always makes me think of her and bonfires out in the country since we've sat at them together a hundred times.
I'm wondering if it's like this for everyone. Do you remember in feelings?
Or pictures, colors, sounds, something else?