Memory

From time to time there are mornings, both in the summer and winter, when especially the world seems to begin anew, beyond which memory need not go... it is the poet's hour.

Thoreau's Journal
1853

A wonderful thought. One pure hour of rest on a quiet morning where "memory need not go." Memories bring us joy, but also intense sorrow.

Before I went into the History Museum to work yesterday, I walked along the Foster Island nature trail on Lake Washington and took a picture of these lily pads. They looked like fall, even more than the trees which are just starting to change in Seattle. As I walked along, I thought about how different the world looks from the back of your horse. And how lucky I am to have that special view imprinted forever on my memory.

But memory is an interesting thing. When I go to the library in the basement of the Museum, I pass the same exhibits each Tuesday, but I see something new each time. And I'll think, how could I miss that? What else am I missing today?

Perhaps memory is like time. We think we understand it. We want to believe it's linear and objective and fades into the past when we think it should. But we don't understand it at all. I've learned that grief is a dark fog, but the sunshine of loving friends slowly lifts it. Our sad experiences become memories that soften over time, and this is the blessing we pray for. Thank you for your kind thoughts and words.