Remembering

I just had a very Mondayish-Monday. Kids in 6th period didn't have their drafts. 7th period sophomores ticked me off. I remembered that I had forgotten to do something-- many things. I have three different organizations to call that will put me on hold for decades before helping me with my problems. I have too much to do and too little time. I am ready for Spring Break. Spring Break is three weeks away.

It's amazing to me-- in these 26 years-- how little I actually remember. I remember the truly good things, and the truly horrific things. Days like this though-- they slip away. It's one more wave onto my desert island that is as forgettable as the next. It's one more leaf off a tree that will be ground into the soil. It's one more cherry blossom off in the breeze.

This day doesn't last. Literally, or figuratively. I will forget essentially everything about this mundane Monday. And that, in this case, is a good thing.

I will remember playing princesses with Heidi in our front yard.
I will remember climbing trees with Shane.
I will remember waiting backstage at the Spokane Opera House, waiting to dance on as Clara in the Alberta Ballet's Nutcracker as a 5th grader.
I will remember walking through the halls of my Arts School High-School when it was still under construction.
I will remember the day I heard the terrible words.
I will remember my first kiss.
I will remember being ricocheted onstage as "Ariel" in The Tempest.
I will remember Mike calling me to exult over us both getting our first leads in I Hate Hamlet.
I will remember singing quietly to myself to calm my nerves when waiting to come on stage as "Madge" in Picnic.
I will remember the first time I said, "I love you."
I will remember dancing with Tony in West Side Story and getting thrown so high.
I will remember weeping over my first lost love.
I will remember talking with Fernanda during rush at Gamma Phi.
I will remember a tragic dinner in my short yellow dress.
I will remember playing guitar for the first time in public, and singing with a voice that shook like fear.
I will remember playing guitar in Covent Garden, and singing with a voice that lifted like joy.
I will remember the sunrise I saw when leaving London.
I will remember the campsite in Rome.
I will remember catching the bouquet at Shane's wedding.
I will remember laundry in Malawi, and ants floating in the laundry tub.
I will remember Tikambe falling asleep in my lap.
I will remember Clayton swinging from my back.
I will remember the sand-dollar walk on the beach in Malibu.
I will remember falling for him, and falling for him, and falling for him.
And I will remember the slow extrications.
I will remember emails with Annie.
I will remember the dinner after Heidi's graduation, and the canyon that opened up beneath us.
I will remember frolicking in meadows on "Heidi's Alp" in Switzerland.
I will remember running into the damn sign.
I will remember the words on the screen at the internet cafe in Cinque Terre.
I will remember the angels.
I will remember the monster duck in Chantilly.
I will remember the snowy walk, and the scaffolded house, and the view, and the goodbye.
I will remember the horrible realization that I had somehow forgotten to do four huge grad school assignments that were already past due.
I will remember Grandpa's balcony.
I will remember watching Heidi come down the aisle.
I will remember swimming in the lake with Max at 1am on a stifling summer night.
I will remember the phone call from Stephanie, and hearing that she wanted to hire me to teach at her school.
I will remember meeting him.
I will remember hanging art in my classroom.
I will remember the first time we said, "I love you."
I will remember that horrible day when Natalie said she didn't think the class was adequately preparing her, and I will remember the birthday card from the sophomores, when they all wrote how much they loved me.
I will remember the best.
And I will remember the worst.

And today is neither; and today, I will forget. And I'm thankful for forgetting.

I want room for what matters.