Selective Memory For Sure

Today I was talking to my lovely older sister about the first time she met my husband. I am sure this encounter has been entirely created in her mind as I have absolutely no recollection of it. And I am younger, so I should have the better memory. In fact, we have had this same discussion (those I remember) on many occasions and it has still failed to created even one iota, one teeny smidgen, one inkling of recall about this meeting. How can this be so vivid for her and so nonexistent for me? Hmmm...

Speaking of memories, something that does stick out in my head, especially these days, is the report I did with several classmates in the seventh or eighth grade about the 1930s. Each group had a different decade. It was in English class. I think Whitney Bass and Laura Haacke were my mates. We had all these photocopies of black and white photographs of dirty, starving, homeless mothers and children, men in bread lines, people living in cars and shacks, some moving to other parts of the country looking for a better life, a new chance, some hope.

Guess it really didn't hit home then. I read an article yesterday about 10% of school children in one California school district being homeless. Ten percent! How are these kids making it? Be thankful. Don't forget to be thankful for what you have.

When I told LLSS what we were having for dinner, she said, "Ooh, thanks for making risotto. That is my favorite." Then, twice at the dinner table, she thanked me again. Who knew rice and broth could make a kid so happy!

I should write down more of the things she says, because, as noted above, my memory is probably not the safest place for them.