A Perfect Moment
Continuing the practice of interspersing my own memories with tales of my ancestors -- this serves the purposes of both The Book of Me and Throwback Thursday: With every passing year, my memory grows ever more frail. While I was teaching, I would regularly reach for a word that was obviously nowhere near the tip of my tongue . . . and it would be gone. Old friends will say, "Remember when we . . . " or "It was so funny when . . . " and I'll have no idea of what they're talking about. I will say to my Loved One, "Did I ask you whether you put the garbage out, or did I just think it?" and half the time I've only thought it. (The other half, I have said it but have no memory of it whatsoever.) At the same time, some memories are so wonderful that they persist forever, memories of an absolutely perfect moment in your life. This comes from about 1971 (of course I have no exact memory of the year). I was visiting the Berkshires