My friends who’ve know me the longest tell me that I have a terrible memory. The two of them will describe events from high school, of our collective antics and mishaps, and I can’t seem to remember a damn thing. My husband says that my memory isn’t so bad, and maybe there’s a sliver of truth there. Maybe it is better than I think… but that’s not still not saying much.
My memory is good, if you’re looking for facts. I’m wonderful at remembering details: if you need to know what the letters in an acronym stand for, I’m ready to help. I can remember all sorts of book facts. For example: did you know that a stegosaurus has 17 plates along its back spine? I learned that from a book sometime around fourth grade, making me want to be paleontologist, then an archaeologist, and then an anthropologist, none of which ever happened. But I have retained the knowledge for two decades that there are exactly 17 plates on a stegosaur.
But I’m not necessarily good at remembering where I’ve been, what I’ve done, and who I was with. There’s a lot that’s missing in my memory. This was evidenced recently when I revisited by previous blog from 2006-07 (and, no, I’m not sharing that) and read at least two posts describing things I would never, ever have remembered again if I hadn’t seen them.
So that’s what this blog will be about– capturing and sharing stories about the places I’m in, whether I’m at home doing something mundane or off traveling to new places. And also using these stories as a way to gather my thoughts and reflect on how we fit into this crazy world and all of its various nooks and crannies.