This and That: Maneuvering Memories

This post features the maneuvering of memories from the past.

Memories are not unfamiliar to us. Some are amusing, some exquisite, and others sad, even dreadful. We say some memories in life are fading, but not forgotten. In some cases that's really okay and in others, forgetting is even better. It is suggested, to keep wonderful and exciting memories, write them down.

Let's leave the now and recall the happy past to invigorate our journey in life.

Broadcast April Fever

Recall a spring vacation you found exciting. What was the location? Who was with you? What made it worth the sweet memory?

Refresh the experience of an old-fashioned picnic. Who was there? What was on the menu that tasted so heavenly? If there were ants, bees, or other annoying critters, how did you react?

Remember the love for an old hobby. Why did it bring you joy? What item or items did you need for the hobby?

Recap the memories of spring cleaning. What memories do you have about cleaning out a cupboard? Did you find an item you had totally forgotten about -- if so, what were your feelings? What plan did you choose for discarding any unwanted stuff?

Rack your brain for memories of listening to the voice of the Earth such as: Patter of rain . . . Crack of lighting . . . Rolling thunder . . . Rushing waters . . . Rustle of wind . . . Chirping of birds. Which sounds intrigued you and why?

Remember: We can glide through the turbulence of life
when we sail on with our personal happy memories.

Bring On The Seagulls

At a spring picnic with my grandchildren, I introduced them to the game of "Calling the Seagulls." We tossed chunks of broken bread into the air. In a very short time, a couple of Seagulls flew over our heads, squawking, circling, and making an impressive dive for our humble contributions.

As the scavengers came, we made a count. At first, five, then maybe fifteen, soon forty birds flew over our heads as we continued to toss the broken bread as high as we could throw it. It seemed as if the whirling of white birds with strong, black tipped, flapping wings moved the air about us, and the piercing noise of selfish shrieks of mine, mine, mine coming from their wailing voices would consume us.

The grandchildren squealed, shouted, danced about, and ducked as the birds dove for our offerings. One grandson stood, like a stone statue, in awe with an unforgettable expression of total amazement at the sight of such a scene. We estimated as many as 50 stunning seagulls attended our feeding festivity.