What will I remember when I get old; when now becomes then? Will it be something from the rarefied past, cleansed of impurities and less dense?

Once I had the self-assurance of the very young. Now I realize that everyone looks better in the rear view mirror, and no one is very different from anyone else. Sometimes an artist’s first invention is himself, and it usually needs a little alteration. I never doubted that my direction was the right one, and plowed right through a problem till it was solved. Now I sometimes spend time doubting if I know what I think I know. Or maybe it’s simply a failure of the imagination.

We go through many levels of becoming in a lifetime. It takes more than a village to mold a memory; we are creating new ones every day. I will choose to remember the good things; the things no one else knows. Small fleeting bright spots which flicker through my consciousness unbidden like the swelling of the ocean beneath your boat.

Mt. Rainier
Mt. Rainier, photo by Jerry Johnson

A small sailboat easing round a bend on a sunny morning, and seagulls crying at the beach. The thought of Mount Rainier rising majestically through the clouds above the rabble below, or Mount Shasta in the moonlight. Just glimpses. Quick flashes of memory tying me to a moment in time. I will remember the smell of wet clay or the warm smells of sugary desserts coming from my oven. We all have them, and they are like the warm yellow windows of home on a dark night.

The larger memories of precious family, present and past, and friends who graced me with their presence, I will think of often, and I will snuggle in my bed smiling in contentment thinking of my husband, and the luck which led him to my doorstep so long ago.

I will hide the dark things, the roadblocks which come to us all. We have survived. There is no need to relive them. Sometimes nature takes pity and leads us to a better place.

Albert Schweitzer’s quotation says it better than I could:
“In everyone’s life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit.”

Author: kaytisweetlandrasmussen83

I am a retired fine arts teacher, sculptor/painter, writer, and a native Californian. I love my family,dogs, horses, movies, reading and music, probably in that order. I have been married forever to a very nice man who is nice to old ladies, dogs and children.

23 thoughts on “WHAT WILL I REMEMBER?”

  1. Hi Auntie dear,

    Wondering if I could come to see you both tomorrow about 10:30? (I might have some Easter chocolate creams for you)!

    Let me know if this works for you.

    Love – Your favorite niece, Linda


  2. A particularly touching post as your birthday on Thursday approaches. I found this post melancholy. I marvel at the specificity of your memory and the way with words that you demonstrate in every post. You are one to be admired.


  3. There are some beautiful ideas here, Kayti; but I am a wee bit … thrown by your turning to so shadowed a topic. I see you as someone eternally young.


    1. Nevertheless all sorts of memories fill our brains. Roadmaps of where we’ve been., and hope for where we’re going. I hope I may always be conscious of the beauty around me; the people, places and things making up this amazing though crazy world.

      Liked by 2 people

  4. Isn’t it a gift, when the darker memories are drained of their power? When they come to consciousness, but then depart just as quickly, without engaging attention or draining energy?

    Your image of the warm, waiting windows is filled with comfort and peace. The words put me in mind of another poet, the estimable Eliot, who pondered “home” from time to time, himself.

    “Home is where one starts from. As we grow older
    the world becomes stranger, the pattern more complicated
    Of dead and living. Not the intense moment
    Isolated, with no before and after,
    But a lifetime burning in every moment
    And not the lifetime of one man only
    But of old stones that cannot be deciphered.
    There is a time for the evening under starlight,
    A time for the evening under lamplight
    (The evening with the photograph album).
    Love is most nearly itself
    When here and now cease to matter…”


    1. The concept of home has always been an important occupation of writers, hasn’t it? This is particularly beautiful and directly reminiscent of Ecclesiastes 3—“a season for everything under the heaven.” It tells me that every moment of our life is important, don’t disregard the seemingly unimportant. Perhaps an unconscious longing for our childhood? A way to make up for past mistakes? Serious thought on an otherwise bright and sunny day. Have a happy Easter Linda.


  5. I just had to share this lovely post of yours. Reblogged, hope you don’t mind. Well, if you did you would have removed the reblog button. 🙂 Sometimes I worry that the things I remember are only the ones captured in photos but then I recall the memories from before my camera. Does one become lazy, expecting to have images as memory prompts in the future? I wonder.


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