Memory is the product of all experiences in life. It grows with each passing moment; it is a collective and unabridged volume of every detail from recalling how to properly wipe your ass (and thus avoid skidmarks) to reminiscing over your first passionate kiss. It is the mysterious mechanism that is vital to every mental process that we undertake.
I say that memory is mysterious because each person's is as unique as their daily lives and thoughts. All of us have different thresholds for memory. Perhaps your first memory recall is from age 2, while I can only remember back to when I was 5. Maybe the scent of fresh-cut grass makes you think of the first time you went golfing with your Dad while it allows me to conjure the image of my neighbor's look of disgust after I got a little lazy with the lawnmower around the flower bed. Sorry bout that. But the point is, memories are as varied as the people of entrap them.
And THAT, I believe, is the reason shared memory is so important. When two people are able to recall the same circumstance based on the same stimulus, they forge a bond that they'll always share. And if they are able to communicate and realize they share this bond, that same stimulus will then serve as a reminder of not only the original memory, but the person that you share the memory with (if the two are indeed exclusive). I attribute much of the importance of family and old friends to the extent of shared memory between and amongst them.
And because I had so much fun reading my sister's early memories, I'm going to share just a few of mine:
I remember Merry-Go-Rounds! Particularly the one at the park near Aunt Jennifer's house. I remember feeling the exhilaration of knowing that if I let go I'd land in an injured heap in the dirt, but it was sometimes worth it just to experience temporary flight.
I remember getting a pea stuck in my nose at the dinner table. I don't remember why I was snorting peas, but wish I did. I do remember that after numerous failed attempts to snot-rocket it out, Mom had to bust out the tweezers and perform some in-the-home surgery.
I remember taking walks with Dad and Uncle Richard at Great Falls and how expansive and never-ending the trails seemed. I loved when we found newts and tried to catch them.
I remember when we took a trip to Wales and Grandpa Jonny was driving a rental. As the roads narrowed and the unforgiving stone walls got closer and closer he became more and more nervous. Inevitably Gramps scraped the rental along the wall setting in motion fiery debate between Gram and Gramps, and a giggle festival in the backseat. I think that rental was a black Mercedes...
I remember going sledding, even when we lived in the townhouse. I remember jumping on a humongous black inner tube with most of the kids in the neighborhood and sledding down the hill behind our house, and thinking to myself their would be no way to top this fun.
I remember the basket of decorative apples that Grandma Lauchman had in her foyer and taste-testing them to see if they were real. Though they weren't, I discovered that biting into them left teeth-marks, and I found that to be great! So I think I went ahead with my sister and tasted them all.
Like anyone, I could go on for days like this, but I think I ought to stop in fear that the next time someone thinks about the Lauchsmiths they'll remember it to be the blog campaigning against brevity. Goodnight.
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