Do you remember?

I'm not one of those folks that feel they must write everyday, which is why I don't. I've had occasional musings during the silence, but nothing that I felt I needed to jot down.

Mostly, I started writing journals (which is what we called these things when paper was involved) as a way to remember stuff - some significant items, some quirky things - oh, but especially from my growing-fuzzier-all-the-time childhood years. Without going into details, I had a pretty significant injury at the age of 15, which resulted in my lack of ability to adequately recall the passage of time, a diminished ability to balance, and a loss of hearing. (As a child, I was a very limber gymnist who thought nothing of jumping onto a balance beam. As an adult, I find new ways to give myself bruises, mostly by cutting a corner too close and walking into a wall. I review my limbs at night to discover what left a mark and what didn't. Most times I don't remember how I "earned" the bruise in the first place.)

My friends - those that have known me since forever ago - laugh along with me when I say things like "the other day" because we both know that means 1983 - or it could mean yesterday. I try to tie actions in my life with where I was living, what grade I was in, where I was working ... things that I know I can figure out without actually having to do too much research. I envy those that can say "oh, yeah, well in 1978, I was finishing the 4th grade" just off the tops of their heads. I will never be that person. (And yes, I had to count backwards from my high school graduation to figure out if I was in the 4th grade in 1978.)

I know where I was when I heard that President Reagan had been shot at (having lunch at my junior high school), but aside from saying "it was the 80s" (which I associate with being "the Reagan years"), I couldn't tell you what grade I was in. (I just looked it up and am pleased to confirm that the incident occured on a Monday around what was likely lunchtime on the West Coast.) Later that year, as Christmas approached, I'd ask my mom why anyone would want to hurt the quiet man who played guitar and sang, and would spend that weekend listening as the radio played nothing but Beatles music.

I can name all of my teachers from Kindergarten through the 6th grade ... Mrs. Denzer, Miss Proctor, Miss Levy, who had to leave early in the year after she broke her back - so she was replaced by Mrs. Shell, Mrs. Smith, Miss Hayden, and then - for 5th and 6th grade, classes rotated between Mr. LeBlanc Mr. Devine, Mr. Russell, and Miss Hill ... but I can name VERY few of my junior high teachers, and my first two years of high school are equally fuzzy ('tho I can tell you, while thumbing through my yearbooks, if I was ever in their classes or not). Without looking at my resume, I presume that I spent a LOT of time at my past places of employment, and am shocked to see that it was only 3 years at that one company, and just as amazed that it WAS a whole 3 years at another.

Why am I bringing all this up? Well honestly, it's a cry for help. Ya' see, I have this bruise on my left leg that is a total mystery ...