Some friends took us to dinner at an elegant restaurant, and we laughed at Harry as he photographed each course. Why would he do that?
Harry and Donna live far from us, and they drove up for the weekend specifically for this meal. Weeks later, we received a Snapfish booklet in the mail that chronicled the evening, from us getting out of the car to shots of the interior of the restaurant to us strolling by the river after dinner.
He must have planned this memory book from the time he made the reservations. As I looked at the little keepsake, 4 by 6 inches and spiral bound, I remembered the awesome flavor in the unexpected hors d' oeuvres and the complimentary champagne since we happened to eat there the night of the restaurant's anniversary. I would have forgotten all these details without Harry's chronicle in pictures.
What do we choose to remember?
And how do we give ourselves aids for remembering?
In conversations by phone since that meal, Donna and I recall the fun we had that evening. The memory grows, like a carefully cultivated vegetable plant. We stretch the joy of the moment across days and months.
Retelling strengthens the memory, and brings us back to an enjoyable moment. Now I look at a photo of potato soup and I am once again watching Harry savor and rave after every spooonful.
Let us cultivate memories of joyful times; we have more of these than we realize and in fact I bet we have them every day. Let's let go of the hurts, the trials and the disappointments. Let's cultivate memories of beautiful, ordinary moments. We will be happier people.
