I met a friend for lunch today - and we spent a couple of hours talking about the States of Our Nations - aka as in our families. What is going on. Who is where. Who is off where. Where is who. Etc. Well, you know what I mean. There is a great deal to catch up on when you have grown children, especially when we happen to have ones with a tendency to roam. Like us.
We also discussed daring to do things. Needing space. Ageing Mums. Travelling girls. Families we both know. And, of course, the time of our lives we find ourselves entering. And wish lists or the lack thereof, as the case may be.
All in all, a typical conversation between ladies like us.
She agreed with me, you see, when I mentioned how important I think it is to write the memories down. Memories can be confused with nostalgia. While there is a certain amount of nostalgia attached to memories, it is a word which evokes sickly sweet connotations, and that is not what I meant at all. I mean memories. I actually love talking about things which happened. Outrageous. Funny. Daring. Awful. Brave. Hysterical. Ordinary, but oh, so different. The snippets which make the kids roll their eyes up in their heads as they say - yes, we know, Mum, you have told us 439457563 times.
There was life before they were born, strange though that may seem. A full and rich life which included being able to visit the bathroom alone. There is, of course, a lot which I haven't told them. They will have to read the book to find out that part.
They also have no idea what my dreams were once, what it felt like to be me as a teenager, and why should they. It was before their time and none of their business. Falling in love with and marrying their Dad also falls into events before their time, and about which they know very little. And if they want to know, they have only to ask. Or read the book.
There is no book.
Yet.
One day, probably.
I will need to write the memories down somewhere before I forget. Mind you, I read last night that Harvard may have discovered a treatment for Alzheimers, in which case we will all remember everything forever.
Now that could be a scary thought..........!
At my Dad's funeral last year, instead of a eulogy, his seven grandchildren each read a bit from several letters he had written for them. These letters talked about growing up and life in general in outback Australia in the first half of last century. The (very lovely)minister who took the service commented on how good it was to see that the family had some kind of written recollections to keep and how he had observed how much families came to appreciate not only the genealogy of their family but the events and stories as well. By chance, my husband bought me a beautiful journal for our wedding anniversary not long after. I have been mentally moving through the house and sheep property where I grew up, describing each room and all the stories and memories that have been stirred up along the way. Maybe there are a few I may chose not to pass on :)!
ReplyDelete