I have an excellent memory for certain things. I can describe Grandma's kitchen in vivid detail. The more I mentally step into that kitchen, the more things I'll remember, like the ceramic Donald Duck planter on the scalloped corner shelf filled with spare change. 3 kinds of Chex cereal in the white cabinet. The shamrock and the jade tree on the window sill. The smell of good food. Grandpa chuckling.
Since I have good recall, it's easy for me to believe I'm in control of my subconscious. I have issues, (who doesn't?) but I know where they come from and try to deal with them accordingly.
I worked at an ice cream store when I was a teenager. One evening I suddenly faced a boy whom I hadn't seen for a while. He went white and stammered an apology. "Yeah, okay. What kind of ice cream do you want?" I was busy and needed to keep up with orders. I didn't know what he was apologizing for, but some part of me was sizzling. That felt uncomfortable, so I stuffed the feelings and doubt deep inside.
More time went by, and I watched a tv show about teenaged violence. I suddenly understood that apology so easily, it was like I'd never repressed getting attacked by my guy "friends" because I'd turned one of them down. Andrew hadn't helped them, but he hadn't helped me either. He just watched me knock a guy out and stun another while the rest piled on me until another friend came roaring to my rescue.
I wonder when there's news stories about repressed memories. Clearly, it happens. I lived it. Yet, too often it seems like people are making things up, or following the misguided directions of a therapist. I began to doubt my reclamation of this memory, so I asked witnesses if it really happened. It did. Drat. I wished it was a bad dream.
But, if we know what we've experienced, we can work on it. Refusing to think of something doesn't make it go away. It affects our lives. Not talking about something because it makes other people uncomfortable is trading their temporary comfort for a more permanent disability within ourselves. Reclaiming my memory and giving myself permission to talk about it gives me power over my own life and decisions. In a backwards way, I live more consciously now because I stuffed those memories then.
I make better friends now, and I value them. John (and Mom) gave me organic apples from their trees. Thanks! I've been happily canning applesauce and gave some of it to other friends. My brother asked for apple cupcakes, big cupcakes, like muffins at the coffee shop with crystallized sugar on top. I threw in a couple of past prime bananas too. I'd show you a picture, but they were ALL gone in one night. I seriously don't know how he managed to digest that many apples without severe stomach distress. The ladies at work suggested they'd like apple cake too.
|Itsy bitsy 4 oz. single serve canning jars|
I don't know if we have to experience the bad in life to appreciate the good, but I remind myself the good people in our lives make life sweet -- and the applesauce sweeter too.
|This is why I have to get apples from others.|
Sorry for the photo quality, it was taken through my kitchen window
and the window screen. This is just 2 of a large flock of the varmints.
The snowman has a stuffed head. This is another tower of cookies I made for Mrs. Fields.