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.
 |
| Sorting apples |
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.
 |
| Bad apple |
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.
