Many years ago, I read a short piece in a woman's magazine about clearing out the home of an elderly woman after her death. Among her belongings they found a large ball of string (frugal people used to save string, rubber bands, pieces of foil, bread bags, etc. for some need in the future). It was labelled, "Pieces of string too short to use." That's how I feel about my memories; I'm grateful I started a blog (web log, or diary on the internet) 20 years ago, because I remembered then details I can't recall now. I occasionally recall something from Alameda, CA during our time there in WWII, or an event at Faith Lutheran in Forreston, IL where we lived after Dad's time in the Marines. One piece of string I found today for which I have no story to write because I was trying to remember the pastor's name, is how cute my little brother looked in his Bumble Bee costume for the Mother's Day program at the church.
It's a piece of string too short to use.
Billy Collins wrote a poem called "Forgetfulness" in 1994. It's the only poem I have posted on my refrigerator.
https://youtu.be/aj25B8JYumQ?si=M5m15Zd1J-cI5zvX You can hear the audience laugh, but you'll recognize every line. It's happened to you,
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