Wednesday, December 15, 2010

5 minutes. Imagine you will completely lose your memory of 2010 in five minutes. Set an alarm for five minutes and capture the things you most want to remember about 2010.

Well, I'm not setting a timer.
I want to remember how, during the summer, on those days when the wind was pushing fat clouds from west to east, I sat in the Adirondack chair on the south dike of the pond, the wind blowing my hair, and turned my face to the sky and watched those fat clouds move over me like ponderous vehicles or lumbering animals.
I want to remember how Miss Julia was so glad to see us in Virginia, and was sad that we had to leave on her birthday.
I want to remember the feeling of accomplishment when I closed my computer on the last quantitative research class.
I want to remember how strong my voice sounded in that large banquet hall-turned-meeting room when I expressed my disappointment that my professional organization was not opposing bad federal educational policy.
I want to remember how much the audience enjoyed the singing and playing of our last appearance, at the bandstand in Windsor in August, and how much my mother liked my a capella version of "The Star-Spangled Banner."
I want to remember skimming across the surface of the pond in a kayak for the first time - finally, a way for me to fly without going high in the air where fear might stop me.
I want to remember the contentment when I again gathered many of our family around me for a Thanksgiving feast, and our late afternoon included music to push away the shadows of the shortening day.
I want to remember Jie's face as she admitted, leaning over the piano, that she loved the melody of "Greensleeves."
I want to remember the Saturday night jam when Richard was roaring away on his guitar, John on his, and me on bass, with an actual audience just loving our every song choice.
I want to remember how nice it sounded when Liz played carols on the piano and I put the melody on top with my violin.
I want to remember the week that Fanny and Nate spent here in August, with Fanny squatting down in the spillway to catch salamanders, and I took her to Jimay's flea market on Sunday.
I want to remember the weekend that Coco and Ty spent here in July, when Coco and I chopped and cooked together.
I want to remember the comfortable feeling in room 245 of Academic B, with every desk filled and my spot on the sofa during fall semester.
I want to remember the joy of working at Cortland, just like my dream specified, and how nice it was to hear that they wanted me again.
I want to remember the excitement of the call from Cazenovia.
I want to remember how surprised I was when my curriculum vitae actually took up two pages.
I want to remember how pleasant it was to see that I could still sing people into the palm of my hand, as I did last night for my sorority sisters.
I want to remember the amazing sight of catfish fingerlings being herded by a parent along the shore of the pond.
I want to remember the heron that visited when I least expected, especially during the cold and snow.
I want to remember each walk, in every season, and the colors I noticed and tried to photograph, awakening my father's memory every time I framed a picture.
I want to remember the calls of owls that I heard on some mornings as I walked, and the phases of the moon that lit up the landscape.
I want to remember.

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