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Title : THANKS FOR THE MEMORIES. (What Memories?)
link : THANKS FOR THE MEMORIES. (What Memories?)

THANKS FOR THE MEMORIES. (What Memories?)

It's odd the things you think about when you have too much time on your hands, even when, paradoxically, it often feels like there's never enough time in the day to do all the things you need to.  When I attended secondary school in the first half of the '70s, for around the first two years, I did so from one house in a particular neighbourhood, and for the next two-and-a-half years, from another house in another neighbourhood.

What I didn't realise at the time though (or at least I have no memory of doing so), was that attending the same school from two different areas had a blurring effect on my awareness of the fact I was now living elsewhere.  It would no doubt have been different if I'd switched to another school (as I probably should have) as then the whole fabric of my daily life would've been altered, but as most of my day-to-day experience during school hours was unchanged, my relocation to another house and area didn't seem significant or memorable.

In fact, when I think back to those school days now, unless I can place them according to whatever dated comics I was buying, I'm not always certain exactly which house I was living in when reminiscing about certain things.  Did that event happen when I was in the former house or the latter?  I remember an art teacher by the name of Mrs. Barclay complimenting me on my drawing of a horse, for which I'd used a Marx Toys Thunderbolt Palomino as reference (so I must've drawn it at home as I didn't take the horse into school with me), but I can no longer recall which house I was living in at the time.  (Still got 'im too - see photo above.)

Nowadays my memory is certainly atrophying with alarming alacrity, and I can no longer recollect some things with the same clarity and readiness I once used to, and it feels similar to a favourite cassette or video tape getting damaged in the player, resulting in parts being no longer as intelligible as they once were - only garbled remnants that elude recognition.  It almost feels like my past life is being eroded and placed beyond my reach, and if a person no longer has their memories, then just what are they left with?

You ever think about such things, Crivs?  And do you have any once fondly-recalled memories that you realise are a little more difficult to access in the caverns of your mind than they used to be?  If so, record them in our comments section before they dissolve forever.

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