Dear Jessica Brennan,
Memory is a funny thing. I can remember almost everything from my childhood. My sister, your Auntie Joyce, can’t remember anything really. This comes in handy if you want to make things up because she has no platform from which to argue. She can ask Grandma though, so I have to be careful.
I remember the layout of every house we lived in including the one we moved from when I was three. I can tell you what wallpaper we had, the furniture we sat on, the tv shows we watched and what the soap smelled like in the bathroom.
I can’t however remember where I hung my purse last night, or what night The Good Fight is on.
I know the names of my childhood pets, the colour of the carpet in each living room, and the dress I wore Easter Sunday in 1968. (It was a hand-me-down.)
I can still see the trees and flower beds in each backyard, remember the dusk that fell as I played frozen tag with my cousins, and can tell you exactly what it feels like to be hit by a large sedan on the way home from school.
I can’t remember what show Dad is performing this weekend or where, how my keys ended up in a shoe-box or what date the car insurance payment comes out of my bank account.
I remember my grandparents though like they’re sitting in front me, can still feel the pain from a penicillin injection when I was six, and can tell you the various topics of dinner conversation we had over pizza burgers and Pop Shoppe pop in the sunroom on my tenth birthday.
I can’t remember why I put my wallet in the freezer or what the name of the new George Ezra song is. As you know, I can’t remember what we are out of at the grocery store which is why sometimes we have 6 dozen eggs.
But I can tell you every single time I was in trouble, what it felt like to get a brother, and what colour ribbon I wore in my hair to the luau party at Dr. Robert’s in 1976. (It was pink.)
Love,
Mum xo
