April 13, 2022

The happy memories of childhood are a wonderful place to visit, aren’t they? Though imperfect, the memories we’ve stored from years passed nonetheless give us touchstones, real moments we can look back on when the spirit moves us.

The older I become, the more I’m convinced that we humans need a sense of stability for our psyches as much as we need air to breathe and food to feed our bodies. By visiting our memories, we metaphorically tie a rope between then and now, giving us something to hold onto, something to guide us. Not unlike the ropes tied between house and barn in high elevation rural areas in the winter to keep the rancher from getting lost in a blizzard.

This is Holy Week, so called because we are approaching the day which is considered the most sacred in Christianity: Good Friday.

My memories of Easter as a child—specifically before the death of my father—are filled with odd bits and pieces, freeze-framed photographs taken by a small child whose world at that point was perfect. I can recall a new Easter outfit, including a pretty if scratchy dress, white socks (also scratchy) and shiny new Maryjane shoes. I remember a cute little white hat and a pink coat, which I doubt I wore any place other than to church each Sunday, and only until spring had heated into summer.

I remember getting a white bunny rabbit one year for Easter. A real, live rabbit! I remember seeing of picture of me taken with the critter. It filled my arms, and my grin, with one tooth missing, was wide and beaming. It was a black and white photo of course, and where that picture—or the rabbit for that matter—ended up, I can only guess.

I also recall my daddy surprising us in the car after Church on Easter Sunday, with a paper bag containing 5 colored hard boiled Easter eggs he’d brought, along with the requisite saltshaker. And there, parked across from the church along the curb, we each peeled our one egg and hungrily devoured them. Funny, I don’t recall if there had been anything to drink to wash the egg down. This was, of course, before the days of the drive-through coffee shop. As well, in those days, most stores were closed on Sunday.

It seems likely to me that there might have been a thermos of water or milk, but I can’t recall if there actually was, or not.

Happy memories all of those—the memories of a child living in a sanitized world.

I don’t feel any kind of desperate need to return to those long-ago days. It’s enough for me to know they existed, and that thinking on them can give me a moment’s respite and put a smile on my face. For the most part, I don’t feel a need to escape from the reality we’re all living in today. There are moments when we all wonder, with not a little bit of consternation, what next? And we all struggle to keep our balance. My mother’s favorite assessment of life comes to mind: she used to say that life is just one damned thing after another.

These last couple of years it has been all of that. I would submit that the difference between fifty or sixty years ago and now is that mostly, those “damn things” back then weren’t as big as a global pandemic or burgeoning European war—mostly.

There’s a comfort in knowing we have those memories as a quiet place to visit, don’t you think? And a definite solace in knowing we’re not alone when it comes to feeling off-balance and overwhelmed. To understand that so many people are in the same space, emotionally, allows us to take a step back and say, “okay, the problem is real, it’s not just me. We’re all in the same boat.”

Yes, we really are all in the same boat—but we’re not all necessary rowing in the same direction.

And while that little fact might discourage you, remember the laws of science. As long as more folks are rowing in the right direction than not, then we are moving in the right direction—just not as quickly as we’d all like. That’s something, at least.

To those who celebrate, David and I wish you a Happy Easter, and/or a Happy Passover.

 

Love,

Morgan

http://www.morganashbury.com

http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury