I boast daily that I wish to live until I'm 140 years. Those within hearing distance smile, cluck their tongues, or peer sideways as though someone else may be listening. My reasoning is to accomplish all the ideas I have to rushing through my mind. I worked without enjoying life for 30 years. Now with retirement long past, I work to enjoy my life. One of those ideas I work on is recording my memories on paper.
Being a kid who was born in the early 1930s and learned about the world around me in the 1940s, and got educated and dated boys in the 1950s, I have many experiences about my family and those who came before me, the summers I spent in the rural areas of Mississippi, and the funny happenings within my own family.
Now with grandson Henry in the picture, the urge to write almost overcomes my waking moments. What will he have to remember "Veve" with but reams of paper snapped up in a series of notebooks that reveal all these wonderful years of my life?
Time. It seems to stand still when the day begins, then leaks slowly out of my life and darkness arrives too quickly. I hold that brief snapshot that jumped into the mind's eye until the next morning. When I drive any distance, memories flood the car's interior and I'm living in the past for an instant while trying to keep my distance from the car that stops suddenly in front of me.