|Me and my sister who is 4 years my senior|
Childhood memories have been haunting me of late and I wonder if it is something that happens when one grows older.
A philosopher friend of mine once said that life is like a clock and from birth the clock begins to wind up till one reaches ones 'middle age', (when the winder has reached it's limit), then it starts to wind down slowly. He intimated that, with the winding down of the clock, life slowly begins to wind down until it eventually stops and of course death is eminent.
This revelation came about when we were discussing how time seems to fly when one gets older. It is like a journey to an unknown destination. It takes forever to get there but the return trip seems much shorter.
The idea seemed a bit strange to me at first but the more I thought about it the more it seemed to make sense.
Or perhaps it is the passing of my dear mother that has triggered these childhood memories that are invading my thoughts so incessantly. I have always been of the mind that the past is just that, the past, it cannot be changed nor mooned over.
These days I find myself digging in boxes re-reading age old letters and cards from friends, some long gone, some so far away. I find myself thumbing through photographs, some faded and torn, some faces I can't put names to anymore. And I'm locked in a time bubble of the past.
|My mother, paternal grandmother, sister, and brothers and myself|
I do know however that I didn't like going fishing with my father simply because we had to sit very quitely so as not to 'scare the fish'. I considered this a punishment because I could never sit still.