Memory Morning
The other morning was one of those April mornings where the chill in the air will soon give way to temperatures in the 70’s. There is an energy, a promise, scents that fills the head with random memories. (The fact that the “April” morning happened in July does not detract much from the day.)
Early that morning, I walked along the trail at Otsiningo. The combination of wet, decaying vegetation and the cool air produced a smell exactly like my favorite place on earth.
Many years ago, we packed the kids and mother in law in a car and drove to Disney World. Being summer in Florida, the end of the trip was hot, sticky and miserable. We bailed out of the car and hauled our luggage up to the front of the Polynesian Hotel. The outside was filled with spectacular flowers, lovely streams, wooden walkways, bridges and heat. It felt exactly like my imagined Tahiti. Then we entered the hotel.
Instantly we were in cool temperatures, engulfed with the scent from the central display of jungle vegetation. As strange as it seems to write this, the smell of decaying vegetation was lovely, refreshing and relaxing.
Each night, when we returned aboard monorail red, tired and miserable from so much fun, we were met at the door by the same experience. Today whenever I go to Disney World, I always make time to walk through that same door and breath deeply.
The next memory-scent that day was totally different, yet equally pleasant. I got home from my walk and sat down by our waterfall. The perfect combination of temperature and air currents produced a journey back to – I don’t really know when.
All of us have frozen moments of shared culture -- where was I when Kennedy was shot, when the first moon landing took place, when Elvis popped that one extra Vicoden. We have some memories that are personal but understandable – When I got my first bike, when a parent died, when I stuck my finger in the wringer washing machine. But we also have “flash” memories. Those times, when for no apparent reason, we can recreate a “perfect moment” in our heads.
One of mine was an early crystal clear morning in Johnson City. I was sitting in the back yard swing on Baldwin Street, looking north toward the old EJ smoke stack. What I sense is total joy and peace. I know it is early morning. The air is alive with an energy and promise that is gone by 8. I must have been about 8 years old or so it feels. I am guessing that it was at or near the last day of school. That might account for the joy, although at that age school was still a wonderful part of life. It may have been earlier, maybe the first nice day after a dull winter.
At any rate, one writer suggested that these flash moments remain with us because they are times when we were totally present in that moment. We had no other distractions, no deep worries , no plans. We just -- were. If we could consciously live our lives totally in every moment, then every moment would become perfectly filled with joy. Perhaps that is why so many flash moments are from childhood.