My first thought when I think of this word is the song Memory from the hit Broadway musical Cats. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4-L6rEm0rnY
I haven’t seen the staged play, yet the song haunts. I feel a yearning upon hearing the opening chords. The words in the verses take me on tangents as I relate them to moments in my life. I wonder if the tug of emotion comes from my own memories and the sentimentality that comes from travelling to my past. Christmas with all its familiarities makes it easy to stroll down memory lane. There are musical triggers, baking triggers, alcohol triggers, shopping triggers; all can lead you down a dark alley. Thank goodness for fairy lights to guide us safely home again!
The busy activity of holiday preparation acts to keep us cheerful. We can’t help but anticipate joyful reunions. Yet the temporal reality can get us feeling a bit maudlin can’t it? Some days seem so short that it feels like the sun has hardly made any effort to rise. On those occasions I have a struggle getting out of my bathrobe; morning coffee turns to breakfast, early lunch, supper feels right at 4pm and gosh it is night again. It’s easy to retreat to the comfort of bed, wishing some happy memory replays through REM sleep.
My memory confounds me. Sometimes while working on a crossword I’ll remember an answer from a clue, baffling myself as to how I could possibly recall something so obscure. Later I might forget where I set down my glasses. I dread the thought that dementia may come calling as I advance in years, erasing some of the memories that I cherish.
Yet sometimes there is joy in rediscovery.
As a youngster I was gripped by the brief television series about amnesia called Coronet Blue. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ghkOAZjNFEU
Other films like Groundhog Day and Fifty First Dates have captured memory loss in a humorous way. Currently I chuckle at the JIF peanut butter ads. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LjnM7PWQ-YE
Memory connects us to time. We take selfies with our mind’s eye every single second. Some shots are quickly discarded, some become blurred with time, while the best of the best are kept safe, like that Kodak or Polaroid snap from our youth. We bring these memories out when we need reminding of how much we have to be thankful for. The Christmas of 2006 contains some of my fondest remembrances: I had just retired from a career in teaching, extended family gathered for one last big hurrah at the homestead, stories of past and present were blended with hopes for the future.
I’ve just read an excellent biography of Buffy Saint Marie by Andrea Warner emphasizing Buffy ‘The Philosopher’. The author allows us to listen as this talented song writer and activist crystallizes her memories down to two personal keys of life: Gratitude and Wonder.
Your memoir, created from words and experiences only you know, awaits publication.
Perhaps it’s my need for light at this time of year that makes me feel hyper-vigilant. I joke that I’m afraid of the dark and that has a certain memory of childhood truth to it. I really appreciate the observance by many to string lights around their buildings since it makes it more easily enjoyable for me to get out for a nighttime ramble. In our community we have an annual lighted truck parade that helps to celebrate the light. The swift moving caravan of dozens of vehicles honks its way throughout our streets, piercing the darkness and our eardrums while making crowds of people smile. https://www.ieoa.ca/
The African American word Woke comes to mind and is useful to me as I come to understand our requirement to be alert to life. I feel that being awake to the world around us is a responsibility of citizens. The poet, Ivan Brooks Sr. starts his piece ‘Reasons I Woke Up’: I woke up very happy/This joy isn’t for me alone/But for nearly everybody/Who calls this world home. https://hellopoetry.com/words/woke/
The joy of being Woke is energizing. I love those mornings when I can rise confidently from slumber and just know in my heart that it is going to be a good day. At times like that a song comes easily to my lips, as this one from the film The Sound of Music.
Lit is another word that can be used to express awareness to the joys that life may bring if we are paying attention. I’ve never felt the need to take drugs to get Lit, but I’ve been known to get a buzz from a happy-hour drink or two. When I am Lit I am also Woke to all possibilities. The world is out there for me to explore and I wish to bring it! I suspect that the Three Wise Men of myth and legend woke one morning and got lit by a passionate desire to seek the reason for the star in the West. My favourite carol as a child was We Three Kings. I could picture their quest easily: Three souls, all wise, yet still they searched. They rode with gravitas, perhaps hoping that their gifts would be enough for what they imagined they would behold.
Being Woke or Lit can prove that you are alive. Someone once said: “If Death comes a knocking just hope he finds you living.” We are often in a wakeful, yet numbed state. What a pity, since soon enough our days of consciousness will end. To be alive is to be fully awake, with our light shining brightly, clearing away the darkness. We must be wise to ourselves. We must look for the wisdom, the wakefulness of others who might act as our guides.
We can be turned on, only after we have tuned in.
In the column of values that define me, Generosity is low on the list. I can be very selfish when it comes to my material possessions: My belongings are just that, my belongings. I think of my house the same way I think of my clothes: I wouldn’t want anyone to put their hands in my pockets. It’s almost a question of privacy. I like to provide for people when they are my guests, but I can’t seem to use the phrase ‘make yourself at home’. I do envy those with such big hearts they can shout, “Mi Casa Su Casa”. These folk likely believe that what you give comes back to you. And I believe that too. However, being an introvert by nature also makes me timid about opening wide too many doors at once.
I’ve been told I am a good host. I’m attentive and often a good listener.
My dad taught me that the best thing you can do for someone is to make them feel they are special. When someone is in my company I try to keep the focus on them. I’d actually call myself bashful if the focus turns to me so I’m more comfortable asking questions that lead to storytelling.
I once got an evil eye for commenting about a heaping plate of salad, “That’s a generous helping you have there”. I can certainly be generous with my opinions. I try to appreciate that being opinionated can be construed as being judgemental yet I so often find that life is just such a big, sometimes overwhelming, bag of curiosities. I don’t have the time or desire to proclaim judgement, just to comment.
I wonder if one can be generous in receiving? If so then I can do that. I think that’s what makes me a great audience member. I have the utmost respect for performance, which is in itself, an act of giving generously. I get such a thrill after a show, if I can speak to the artist personally about what their effort has meant to me. Certainly I am one who is generous with praise. Some would say lavish and others might say I am too gushy. No matter, my generosity extends to cheering on my fellow citizens whenever I see the merit, and I refuse to hold back. Those who are willing to make themselves seen; either in politics, sport, art or as a citizen concerned with justice, deserve to be acknowledged for their effort and leadership. I do not wish to wait to sing someone’s praises after their death.
One of the quickest ways to feel a part of a new community is to volunteer. Giving generously of your time and talent gives a boost to you and others. Since retiring I have found great value in volunteering. I have enjoyed working in this way with several groups who have shown respect for my generosity by inviting me into their special world. This in turn has made my world larger and more beautiful than I ever could have imagined.