Memories In The Making

When my husband was young, he remembers pressing his nose against the metal screen of his bedroom window on many a sunny summer morning or warm summer night. The smell of the air, mixed with the scent of that metal screen, to this day, is a memory that is etched in his mind. 


Likewise, I remember the sound of the creaking screen door of our summer cottage when I was a girl. It instilled such a fond memory in me, that when my father and I built our screen  house, I insisted on having a creaking screen door! Every time I went in or went out, I was greeted with the lovely sound that gave a happy lift to my heart.


 For a time, my folks owned a cottage tucked in amongst several acres of pine trees. When Becca was still a toddler, we went there quite often. As she has grown, she has mentioned many times over the years of there being a certain smell in the air similar to that of the cottage in the pines. As young as she was, that memory will last her for as long as she lives. 

The older I get, the more I realize that memories are not moments of time that we consciously determine to always remember. In fact, those things that I've vowed to always remember, have now become vague and elusive to me. There is nothing I can find that determines a surety for the making of a memory. Rather, memories are hidden in the everyday moments of life that, somehow, unexpectedly, in the picture of our mind, have become indelible. 

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