Friday, June 5, 2015


I think most people fail to appreciate how precious our belongings, our photographs our memories, our stories, really are. They are our heritage. 

My treasures, the things I love, my memories are more than just mine. I am the vessel that contains the memories of my mother and father; my sisters and brother as little children. 

I am the vessel that contains the memories of my grandparents and uncles and all my friends and all the special people I have known through the years.

Within my mind are the memories of all the travels and concerts and Broadway shows, and visits to Fletcher's Field with with my daddy, and working by his side as a little girl. 

I remember all my pets. I loved them so much and I miss each one to this day. 

I am the vessel that remembers the beautiful melodies I sang with Cliff and how I adored him. When I asked my darling husband to tell me his memories, he couldn't believe anyone would be interested. Today, they are my treasures and mine to ensure for posterity.

My father took me to the movies. He took me to book shops. He took me on long walks and talked to me. He taught me to ride a bike and he taught me to drive his 1947 maroon Kaiser that caught the attention of all the boys on our street. I remember those precious times. And I remember with regret, my mistakes and my failures. 

I contain within me all the memories that make me who I am. I consider myself very, very lucky to have such a sharp memory because, without our memories, each of us is just an empty shell.

The older we get - if we are caring people - the more we recognize that our photographs, recordings, art work, our jewellery, trophies, diaries, journals, letters from friends and fascinating people, greeting cards, certificates of merit, the deputy sheriff's badge my husband wore with dignity, our vinyl records, our pretty china cups and saucers, the sea shell collection, all those marvellous scrap books with pictures of movie stars - these are all that remain when we are no longer here.

Cliff's badge, our wedding portrait, his rings, his trademark Stetson fedora - not an old hat, but a treasure - the things Dawn McSweeney stole had value that no amount of money could ever buy. They are things that hold "auras" of our souls. When we touch them, see them, we "connect" with those we love. When they are stolen, a piece of our heart is torn out.

We can't decide what our children should care about, but we can hope that our lives have some value and are worth remembering.  Having these things that we can see, touch, hear, means we really did exist and this is what we did and this is what we cared about. We were real. We live, in a way, if we are remembered.

Since I started publishing my blogs and posting on Facebook, I have had feedback from readers and I can see that what I have to say matters to people, encourages them or annoys them, inspires them and touches their hearts. Even though I live alone in a small space, with the Internet, I am reaching thousands of people around the world. My thoughts, ideas, feelings, hopes and memories are touching people.

I will never know what impact my writing has, but my part is to tell, to expose, to reveal, to share. What others do about it is their responsibility, not mine.

When you throw a pebble into a lake, the rings flow outward to the far shores.

Phyllis Carter

1 comment:

Phyllis Carter said...

Detailed reports of the Crimes of Dawn McSweeney are open to the world at -