I was chatting with a group of friends the other day; one lady said she wouldn't know what to blog about because her life is so boring.
"The past," I said. "Write about your past."
This is a lady who, along with her husband, was a missionary (to Borneo, I think). She's told me about some fascinating experiences there.
Then another friend chimed in to say that she did not want to think about the past.
OK, different strokes for different folks.
But how can I forget my parents, who are gone now? And my Grandma? Am I supposed to forget the good times with her? They are part of my past. I feel it would dishonor them to never speak of them, or think of them.
How about my children, as babies? What happy times those were. Oh, glorious past! I will NEVER forget how they felt in my arms. I pity anyone who shuts out such memories. How can you turn your back on happy days gone by?
Little golden moments, frozen in time. Like this one: My mom was living in a mobile home on our property, six years ago; she was getting on in years and really wasn't up to preparing a meal for guests. Her brother, my Uncle Leo, and his wife, came to see her. I made a huge batch of spaghetti, spread some garlic butter on regular bread, and invited them all here. We were laughing and talking and eating with gusto; about ten minutes into the meal, Uncle Leo put his fork down and made this announcement: "This is a meal fit for a king!" I reminded Cliff of this just yesterday, and we laughed about it. I love my Uncle. He lives on in memories like this.
You can forget your past if you like, but I treasure mine... every golden memory, from 1944 up to yesterday. And my readers, like it or not, are going to be reading about it.