The fragile creatures that are memories…


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Another memory fragment…

Its out the back door of my grandparents house (from my early childhood) in Cambridge Wisconsin. The yard is green, large trees between me and the lake. There is a hill to the right of the door, that leads to the cottage my grandfather and great-grandfather built. Down the slope the other way is the lake. The lake shore itself holds two memories, the sand my grandfather put as a beach there for us to play on and the pier. Bobbing by the pier were three row boats and the power boat. The row boats were for the cottages behind the main house, but before I was allowed to take out the speedboat I was allowed to wear a life jacket and row the row boats out a little bit away from shore.

Macgregor our collie was with us at the lake one time, I must have been 9 or maybe 10 years old. I remember the adults sitting at the tables that were off the stone porch. There was a picnic table and a few other chairs. I remember my grandmother sitting in one of the chairs. She still smoked back then which when I think about it now seems odd and out of place. My mother’s hair was black – none of the gray hairs I would cause had appeared yet.

Lynne and I were arguing over the captains hat. I think that started when I was 4 and she was 2. We both wanted to wear Grandpa’s hat. The memory fades to black with me carrying a bucket, a can of worms and a fishing pole down to the lake. In the end, despite all my tries, I never really caught enough for dinner. Although, I suspect when I was 9 or 10 I wouldn’t have eaten the fish, anyway.

End of memory…

Memories are interesting beasts. The one above represents a happy time. I have many memories well fragments of Cambridge. I remember the table my grandmother set for Thanksgiving one year. I remember the year we were leaving for Thailand. Lynne and I both talked about the fact that we would get to celebrate Christmas twice that year. Once at home, and then once in Cambridge before boarding a flight for Bangkok via Paris. It would take us three weeks that year to make it to Thailand. A week in Shannon Ireland (well nearly a week) than roughly 8 days in Paris. I dragged my poor mother everywhere in Paris, as I was a huge Napoleon buff at that age.

They come and go, memories sometimes they bring a tear to the corner of your eye. Sometimes they crinkly you mouth with a smile. They are interesting creatures…

.doc

Scott Andersen

IASA Fellow

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