Right now I’m unpacking (and sorting) some stuff that was packed away for a bit of construction. I’ve been slowly going through the process and reached a point I had to stop because of the intensity of memory. There are many things that provoke memories. Scents can call up a scene as can certain tastes. Souvenirs are designed to have some memory of a place, although how well they capture that probably depends on a lot of factors. I’ve been doing a ton of sorting this past year and interestingly the objects I have the hardest sorting through seem to be books. Not just books for their contents. I’m fine with digital books. They travel well and take little space (if a chunk of data). I mean the physical books that I sat in learned with others, or books that have notes in them, or books that were well used by my husband, obm. There is a sensation from holding them, not every book but certain many. Reloading bookshelves of books that are mostly ones that were “his” is a challenge. Admittedly some of them I am thinking of sending on, and some I’ve been learning from or have had the “Oh cool! We have this?” experience from them. But the paper and ink well bound seems to have the strongest pull of memory for me.
What holds memory for you and draws it forth when you encounter it?
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Listening to the ’80s station on XM radio. Most of the time I just tune to another channel altogether. It’s too much.
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