Some of us have reached an age where memories are precious. You don’t have to be old-old for that to happen. You simply need to have special memories. It may be the memory of an old love, of parents gone, of special times in your life, or of your grown children as cute toddlers. In a lifetime, we make a lot of memories – some good, some not so good, some we hang onto and some we would be better off letting go.
I told you in the Tuesday post that I was on vacation this week. For my family the beach holds many special memories from a time when we were in the early years of marriage and could drive down the beach (no longer allowed) to family trips with all the kids and grandparents. There were years of innumerable putt-putt golf and paintball tournaments and great beach restaurants with the cousins and family. We’re truly lucky when we have these kinds of memories. There are those who slowly lose these memories as they age.
I saw an article a few years ago about writing down a gratitude for something you experience and putting it in a special container throughout the year. I think that should be done with special memories too, so we can pull them out and revisit them. The picture at the top shows a very special container. A friend makes these from found and antique fabrics. A link to see more of her work is here.
This is vacation week. We’re going to keep it lighter and return to the subject of lost memory when I have some real progress in treating that to discuss. I’m sharing a piece I wrote in recent years about walking on the beach. It is one of those I want to put in the memory treasure container. I’ll also share a link at the end to a story about a prize-winning student podcast on how memory works.
So… Beach Walk – As I walk along the beach with my husband, I lag a little behind staring down at the shells buried in the sand. At this beach, the shells are mostly broken by the sea as they hit the beach, but still I’m drawn to the different shapes and colors and the hope to discover one that is still whole. I end up taking a few back home after every visit and putting them in a glass bowl.
Today I’m looking at the shells and thinking about Gift from the Sea, that little book of essays by Anne Morrow Lindbergh inspired by shells on the shore, when I realize my husband is moving further up the beach away from me. I start to speed up while still trying to look down. The shells at my feet seem to form a swirling kaleidoscope. I feel a little dizzy. Okay, I think, I shouldn’t spend my time on the beach with my head down looking at the sand and shells, so I look up and soon catch up to Mike.
I should learn a new way of relating to the beach. I think. After all, here is the beauty of sea and sky. I’m looking down and missing much of it, so I ask my husband, “What do you look at when you walk along the beach?”
“Around,” he says.
Hmm… I look around.
Finally, he continues, “I was looking to see if there was any damage from the hurricane other than to the pier. There doesn’t seem to be much – a very few roof tiles and a little siding.” We walk along talking about the storm and looking “around,” but every so often an especially intriguing bit of shell catches my eye, and I veer away from him.
For some reason, my muse always sneaks up on me at the beach… it seems my busy life at home – work, walking my dog, grocery store, doctors’ appointments, gym – just does not leave much room for the muse to strike. Now, I’m not only looking for shells, but I’m also thinking about the whole experience of walking the beach. Come to think of it, I walk the beach much like Maggie, my dog, walks on our daily treks – dashing in one direction or another as she follows not her eyes, but her nose to new discoveries.
I deeply inhale taking in the scents of ocean, sun baked sand, and cool breeze. Occasionally, there’s a scent of suntan lotion as other walkers pass me. Maggie would surely have followed that. So, I continue walking a crooked course – up beside Mike and then darting off to the side to pick up an enticing shell – all the time wondering which is the best way to walk the beach.
I know I’m missing the wider view of ocean, sky, and people while staring down at the sand. Mike takes a wider view looking at the aftereffects of the storm and the buildings lining the beach. We both are enjoying the breeze and the warm sunshine and the free time to enjoy the day. Others pass us, arms swinging, feet pumping as though on a forced march.
That is the story of all of us. We enjoy things in diverse ways, we live in diverse ways, we absorb our world in diverse ways… sometimes enjoying, sometimes struggling with the experience of living. It isn’t that one way is wrong, and another is right, but that we can enjoy and live our way while learning from each other even if we question whether our way is best or think it’s much better. I tend to think the most important part is to experience the experience, to live the life we’re each meant to live. It sure is nice to live some of it at the beach.
So I’ll ask you: how do you walk the beach? Do you keep your head down looking for shells, look around at the sea and sky, or stride along as though it’s a forced march? I’d love to hear about it in the comments. And if you have a favorite memory you’d put in a memory container, I’d love to hear that too.
P.S. If you’d like to hear more about how memory works, here’s an NPR story about a prize-winning student podcast.