Memories are a beautiful thing. The ones we’ve already made and the ones we’re busy making. Just about anything can take us back- a song, a smell, a place. In a moments time, we’re transported to the origin of that memory.
Tonight, I sit here on a bar stool, working on my “blob,” listening to George Jones sing about “honky tonk angels holding him tight to keep him from slipping away.” In an instant, I’m in the truck with my Dad, Mom and Sister. We’re riding down an old country road after checking cattle at “the Bobbit Place.” Fresh air flows through those rolled down windows, dust flies high with every turn of the tire and George Jones pipes through the eight track player. We all sing together, “He stopped loving her today.” Too young to even intellectualize what that song meant, we knew our Dad and Mom loved it. And, honey we could “sang” it!
When I think of memories, I’m reminded of how I should making them day in and out. We can’t redo this moment, but if we do it right, we can replay it a gazillion times. Talk about a gift that keeps on giving. One of my favorite aspects of vacation is being back in the comfort of my home, looking at pictures and reminiscing about the fun or meaningful or treasured time I had. Every memory energizes me. And, I forge into the day with a little extra pep in my step.
But, what gets in the way of making those memories for me, and maybe some of you, is busyness. I’ve got to clean this and mail that and call this person and make that appointment and set a reminder for something and meet the expectations of others and meet my own expectations and so on and so forth. When we pause all of that and determine what has to be done, we’re able to free ourselves up for long conversations on patios, karaoke in the car with family and friends and thrown together meals with neighbors. Those kind of moments are the greatest opportunities to make memories.
So when our routines are interrupted briefly by a phone call from a friend we haven’t connected with in a long time, we should take it. When a neighbor drops by unannounced, we should throw the door open and invite them in for a tall glass of sweet tea. And, above all, we should be still in those moments ever aware of the sweet gift of memory it will yield.
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