Do you ever smell or taste or sense something that brings back memories from long ago and far away? Does a book ever bring back a memory?
Perhaps you look at a book on the shelf, and it's as if you were back in college, discussing The Sun Also Rises or Willa Cather's My Antonia or Joyce's Ulysses. The smell of coffee and sleepless nights will hang heavy in the air. And, just a bit of that sweet nectar of discussion and seeping in of knowledge comes back. You're there again.
In Where the Red Fern Grows, Wilson Rawls writes: "It's strange indeed how memories can lie dormant in a man's mind for so many years. Yet those memories can be awakened and brought forth fresh and new, just by something you've seen, or something you've heard, or the sight of an old familiar face."
Not all memories are welcome. Some are tragic, filled with all those poignant reminders of loss. They say we can't have the good without the bad--the happy, go-lucky days with the foreboding shadow of loss of innocence and death. We grow up, as do the characters in our favorite novels. Where do all those days go?
Happy or sad; good or bad. I still prefer to remember. I cherish the lessons learned, and the friends I've kept all these years. It all started in a memory about a book.