“It’s amazing how a little tomorrow can make up for a whole lot of yesterday.” ~ John Guare
Jen’s question sparked a many-days-conversation between Kerri and me. She asked about my favorite childhood birthday memory. I stared into space. My memory pool was empty. There was nothing but white noise between my ears. I sputtered something about awkward valentines in elementary school. Later, on the drive home, I confessed to Kerri how unnerved I was to have little or no distinct memory to recount. Both Jen and Brad had palpable stories to tell – and many of them.
Since that evening we’ve talked about the power of reminiscing. Neither of us has lived near our families. We’ve had relatively few opportunities to sit around a table and tell stories of childhood, recount foibles, ask questions, laugh at where we’ve been and what we’ve done with the people who shared the experiences with us. During our recent trip to Florida I was startled at Bill’s precise memories of his time in Vietnam. Each year he gathers with the surviving members of his squad and they tell stories of their service. His memories are clear because he regularly tells and hears the stories. It’s a ritual meant to keep vital the thread of connection to the past. Shared story is the glue that holds together a family, found-family or otherwise.
Last night we were wide awake at 3am. We turned on the light and returned to our conversation about the power of reminiscence. The power of enlivening stories with others who hold the same memory. Kerri can tell me stories about raising her children but I wasn’t there. We were not parents together so I am able ask questions but I am unable to spark a visceral memory with, “Do you remember when we…” A one way street is not as accessible as a memory street shared by two.
Inevitably, as the sun began to rise on our sleepless night, our conversation turned toward what we want to create. Together. What are the shapes of our dreams? We began to tell stories in the other direction. We imagined and, so, we created. The power of reminiscence balanced by the power of aspiration. We laughed and built metaphoric houses. We populated studios with creations. Kerri challenged me to paint in a new way, not images but to give color and shape to my feelings.
Feelings. Suddenly, I remember a birthday from a time I was very young, single digits. In the basement, made from refrigerator boxes, Columbus built a birthday surprise. A train or an airplane? I can’t remember. But I felt like it was yesterday, the thrill of running down the stairs to see what my father had made for me.
Kerri’s albums are available on iTunes and streaming on Pandora
read Kerri’s blogpost about THE TRACKS
meander/as it is © 2004 kerri sherwood
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The Direction of Intention 