MUSINGS FROM JOAN #32
Frank Bruni, the former N.Y. Times restaurant critic, wrote a fascinating article on the Huffington Post today about “memoirs and memories”. Basically he wrote about how selective our memories are, and how sometimes we discuss something that we remember so vividly with someone who shared the moment, and we find that they remember it totally differently. Other times, someone will talk about an important memory and you will have absolutely no recollection of the event..
This happens frequently with my sister and me. Sometimes I wonder how we grew up in the same household and remember things so differently. My favorite memory difference is the question of who was our father’s favorite. I know it was me. She insists it was her. I guess that was his genius as a father, we both are positive that our memory is the correct one..
I had a long time friend, we grew up together from the age of 12, who stopped talking to me several years ago because of an incident that she claims occurred that obviously pissed her off big time. I have absolutely no recollection of the incident which apparently involves my leaving her dinner party early to watch a Dolphin playoff game, The fact that I didn’t remember anything about it, made her even madder, and she still isn’t talking to me. My feeling to this day is that Dolphin playoff games don’t happen that often. You have to have priorities..
My daughter Andrea and I sometimes remember things differently. Just the other day she told me she remembers walking our dog Eloise with her father and on returning home seeing flames shooting out the kitchen window. I admit that I burned down two kitchen stoves during that marriage,. . once I decided to take a shower and apparently neglected to return, the other time I was entertaining guests in the living room and got carried away with the conversation. . . but the stove was nowhere near the window and besides the kitchen was in the back of the house and couldn’t be seen from the street. She is adamant about her memory and I’m too unfamilar with stoves of any kind these days to argue. Speaking of memories, I lost the instruction book on the convection oven here in my condo and can't remember how to turn it on. ( OK, Andrea. . so I've never turned it on. . .I can remember that.)
It’s nice to have one friend who shared your growing up years and does remember important times and places exactly as you do. Judy and I walked to school together every day of our high school years, we lived in the same apartment house, and we can still remember vividly what we wore on what important date, where we went and what we did. We borrowed each other’s clothes, giggled a lot, majored in boys and were not exactly deep. I learned to drink straight shots of rye followed by ginger ale and used to sneak out my bedroom window after my parents went to sleep. Luckily we lived on the first floor. At sixteen, it’s hard to imagine you would someday turn 8o. Actually, it’s pretty hard to imagine at 79 and 11/12ths. Judy reached that milestone in May. I love her attitude about it. . .she’s still not sure whether she’s going to accept the number.
I’m not sure either. I’ll let you know in 27 days.
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Photo caption: Memories of a great stone crab dinner. I may not cook, but I sure can serve!
Frank Bruni, the former N.Y. Times restaurant critic, wrote a fascinating article on the Huffington Post today about “memoirs and memories”. Basically he wrote about how selective our memories are, and how sometimes we discuss something that we remember so vividly with someone who shared the moment, and we find that they remember it totally differently. Other times, someone will talk about an important memory and you will have absolutely no recollection of the event..
This happens frequently with my sister and me. Sometimes I wonder how we grew up in the same household and remember things so differently. My favorite memory difference is the question of who was our father’s favorite. I know it was me. She insists it was her. I guess that was his genius as a father, we both are positive that our memory is the correct one..
I had a long time friend, we grew up together from the age of 12, who stopped talking to me several years ago because of an incident that she claims occurred that obviously pissed her off big time. I have absolutely no recollection of the incident which apparently involves my leaving her dinner party early to watch a Dolphin playoff game, The fact that I didn’t remember anything about it, made her even madder, and she still isn’t talking to me. My feeling to this day is that Dolphin playoff games don’t happen that often. You have to have priorities..
My daughter Andrea and I sometimes remember things differently. Just the other day she told me she remembers walking our dog Eloise with her father and on returning home seeing flames shooting out the kitchen window. I admit that I burned down two kitchen stoves during that marriage,. . once I decided to take a shower and apparently neglected to return, the other time I was entertaining guests in the living room and got carried away with the conversation. . . but the stove was nowhere near the window and besides the kitchen was in the back of the house and couldn’t be seen from the street. She is adamant about her memory and I’m too unfamilar with stoves of any kind these days to argue. Speaking of memories, I lost the instruction book on the convection oven here in my condo and can't remember how to turn it on. ( OK, Andrea. . so I've never turned it on. . .I can remember that.)
It’s nice to have one friend who shared your growing up years and does remember important times and places exactly as you do. Judy and I walked to school together every day of our high school years, we lived in the same apartment house, and we can still remember vividly what we wore on what important date, where we went and what we did. We borrowed each other’s clothes, giggled a lot, majored in boys and were not exactly deep. I learned to drink straight shots of rye followed by ginger ale and used to sneak out my bedroom window after my parents went to sleep. Luckily we lived on the first floor. At sixteen, it’s hard to imagine you would someday turn 8o. Actually, it’s pretty hard to imagine at 79 and 11/12ths. Judy reached that milestone in May. I love her attitude about it. . .she’s still not sure whether she’s going to accept the number.
I’m not sure either. I’ll let you know in 27 days.
# # #
Photo caption: Memories of a great stone crab dinner. I may not cook, but I sure can serve!
Mom and I still have an ongoing argument regarding her rustling around the kitchen banging a bunch of pots and pans every morning to wake me up during high school. She says it either wasn't ever done, or if it was that it wasn't on purpose. And I remember her telling me she did it to make sure I was awake.
ReplyDeleteI know you pride yourself on the breadth of your knowledge but is there a reason you feel compelled to know how to turn the convection oven on? I'm quite certain the world is a safer place without you having that piece of information.
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