At a recent banquet, one speaker urged his listeners to revisit places of former years—not literally, but rather as a mind exercise. His words immediately brought forth a memory of former years as well as a memory of a visit to that place decades later.
In the 1990s, during a rare trip to my grandparents’ home, I stood in their front yard one late night and was ambushed by the pungency of the honeysuckle growing in their far backyard. That smell immediately evoked a 1960s image of my mother, aunt, and grandparents drinking coffee and talking around a concrete table while my siblings and I chased fireflies and listened to their comforting, adult conversations.
Almost another thirty years have passed, and that memory of a memory is still with me. I’m not sure why it lingers or why it means so much—maybe even more than the original memory of evenings I loved before air-conditioning kept us indoors.
However, I’m glad for both the urging and permission to return to former places—whether literally or in my mind—especially during the holidays when I might be ambushed again.
May only good memories sneak up on you this Christmas.
