I think of these things as often as I think about getting married or giving birth or the end of the Second World War. I often think of the Chinese red bathrobe I had when I was twenty-seven years old the sound of our first cat Charlie’s feet on the linoleum of our old house the hot rarefied air around aluminum pot the moment before the kernels of popcorn burst open. All the cups of coffee, hand-washings, changes of clothes, lunches, goings to the bathroom, headaches, naps, walks to school, trips to the grocery store, conversations about the weather-all the things so unimportant they should be immediately forgotten. The memories we take to the ends of our lives have no real rhyme or reason, especially when you think of the endless things that you do over the course of a day, a week, a month, a year, a lifetime. Then again, I suppose so much of what stays with us is often insignificant. “I am constantly mystified by what John ends up remembering… I just don’t understand why he’s able to hang on to information like that, while so many other more important memories evaporate.
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