There is what happened, what we remember, and what we later reminisce,
And they are not the same thing.
Our memories persist, but they gain a patina with age,
They may even be edited somewhat.
Of perhaps colorized
Or perhaps sanitized
Or perhaps even (quite honEstly) fictionalized
(to protect the innocent... and the guilty).
I can remember a pleasant spring afternoon,
Wandering in the forest as a child,
(That is really a splicing of several pleasant afternoons),
With the fact that I tracked mud into the house
and angered my mother—
Edited out completely,
Or putting deer droppings in my pocket.
“What are these curious berries?”
Then there are the romantic starlit evenings I remember
When I was a young man romancing a young lady
I can remember the candlelight flickering,
The starts in the skies and in her eyes
And edit out the stupid, vapid things that came our of my mouth,
About as suave as a goat,
and not as sincere as the current me would like to admit.
I can remember how I dazzled my classmates with my brilliance,
Then one of them shows up to remind me of the time that I…
You’ve got the idea.
But the patina on memories does make them more cherished,
Even if they have become dramas based upon a true story.
But I can enjoy the patina that makes all my memories more beautiful.
If the “now you” can laugh or even wince at the”then you.”
Congratulations
And sign and marvel at how far we have come,
And indicate where we are going
But enjoy the ride nonetheless.
The story continues to be written.