Remembering, by Phillip Hoyle

I remember a religious educator from years ago who sometimes surprised me with his rather creative thoughts. (Of course, I’m still trying to recall his name; perhaps William something.) He once asserted the main resource anyone has in education is memory. He illustrated his perspective by the example of having boxes and boxes, files and files of resources such as books, curriculum designs, manuals, art supplies, costumes, play scripts, musical scores, recordings, movies, and so forth, but if you don’t recall—that is remember—what you have put away, you won’t be able to use them.

I learn more and more about this perspective every day. Just last week I thought I would wear a particular sweater, but when I opened the storage box where I thought it was, the one under the chair in the east alcove of the bedroom, the sweater wasn’t there. I searched the stack of sweaters I’d been wearing, the ones I’ve been stacking in the chair next to the bed but it wasn’t there, not even at the bottom of the stack. I looked through the stack of clothes atop the little chest of drawers in the closet, the one where I keep my sweat shirts and a few other items, but it wasn’t there. Then I recalled another storage box under the bed and pulled it out. There I found three sweaters—one I didn’t even know I owned, but none of the sweaters was the one I thought I was searching for. I chose one of them to wear, but as I write this story I can’t recall the sweater I originally thought I was looking for. Was it brown, red, green, or blue? Bulky knit or smooth? Solid or patterned? Cotton or acrylic? Pullover or cardigan? Button-up or zippered? I have no idea, no memory.

So I conclude my friend was right. Oh I found a resource, but it wasn’t the one I remembered. The problem I face may be one complicated by old age. In sixty five years I’ve worn so many sweaters—ones I liked and wish I still had (of course none would fit, but I’m not talking about that)—so many that now I’m confused enough that I go looking for resources I know but just don’t recall what decade I had that box, or in which church I kept those particular boxes, or now even that there is another box of resources under the bed.

Memories. I have floods of them and at this point sometimes feel overwhelmed by them. So last week, when I got tired of wearing to Storytime my four sweat shirts (two of which appear exactly alike to the casual observer) and my five sweaters (I’m sure I wanted at least to look different than usual on Monday afternoon in case my story seemed too much the same old thing), so I remembered a sweater I guess I don’t even own any more, like the old guy with senile dementia who thinks I’m his childhood lover or the old gal on pain meds who when I visited her in the hospital introduced me to her nephew although she and I were the only ones in the room. And I’m writing this story about memories with the earnest hope I’ll be able to find it in my computer’s word processor when I need to print it out and put it in my backpack with the other resources I carry to our storytellers gathering and remember to put the backpack on my back when I leave the house, pick it up again when I leave my office, not leave it at the restaurant, and able to find the story when the session begins.

Of course, should all that fail—or even if just one cog in the works be forgotten) I could simply rely on my memory to tell this story or some other one I’ve forgotten about until this very moment. I guess my friend was right. The real and essential key to resources is one’s memory.

© 20 November 2012 –Denver  

About the Author 

  

Phillip Hoyle lives in Denver and spends his time writing, painting, and socializing. In general he keeps busy with groups of writers and artists. Following thirty-two years in church work and fifteen in a therapeutic massage practice, he now focuses on creating beauty. He volunteers at The Center leading the SAGE program “Telling Your Story.”

He also blogs at artandmorebyphilhoyle.blogspot.com