Collecting memories.

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Even at home my pockets are almost always full, but on a vacation such as this they were virtually bursting. There's always something to pick up and save - or at least save until I can write about it, and in that way digest the experience related to it and embed it in memory. On this vacation, however, the pace of events and the accumulation of artifacts was such that my pockets were bursting almost from the beginning of our trip, and I wasn't succeeding in finding the time to write about them and then empty my pockets for new adventures. Emptying my pockets at security checks at airports became a lenghty (and for my family, exasperating) process that was somewhat reminiscent of a magician continually pulling a seemingly endless series of scarves from his sleeve.

So pockets were supposed to be an intermediary stop between an experience and its integration into memory. They weren't supposed to stay full. But they did. I came home with overflowing pockets, and because I had to quickly immerse myself in other activities almost as soon as I got home, the best I could do is empty my pockets into a box, and hope that I'll get around to reflecting on the contents of that box before a fading memories prevent me from ... well, from remembering as I might want to remember.

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Go to: Getting thoughts on paper, or
Go to: The Boidem takes a vacation.