Memoirs of the sieve© is the original journal I started which got forgotten, then later added to the beginning of Ramblings of an Almost Middle Aged Woman© and therefore I call them Prep Entries. This is where my journey into the land of journalling began. Several things were playing on my mind at this time and were becoming what I like to call ‘fluff catchers©’ – and to explain – This is what happens when a [useless worry of a] thought or group of thoughts are bouncing around in your head; I picture them as scourer pads moving around the inside of your head like a air hockey puck actually no, a far better analogy would be the iRobot Roomba [yep that is the absolute perfect comparison, go me!!]. Well this Roomba moves around the inside of your brain vacuuming and storing any tiny bit of information that could have the minutest association with what it is you are ‘obsessing’ over. As it bounces around off your internal scalp and moves off in another directions, while catching all the useless ‘fluff’ that has built up over time and in the end you wind
up with a ‘dust bag overflowing fairy floss looking’ Roomba the size of Mount Everest. You mentally survey your prospects and with no climbing experience panic at the implication that you have to some how scale this monstrosity. Yeah, brain fluff© can be quite brutal stuff when it gangs up on you; a regular dust out or ‘verbal dumping’ either to someone interested [or not!], got no one? try your hair dresser […. not even kidding] or be like me and dump to your delight all over your trusty electronic bestie MW [she loves it]. It truly can be a helpful, sometimes the things that make sense on the inside of our heads when said aloud or written down [journalled] loose their power or don’t seem so much of an Everest any more ……. if only I could remember to actually journal more often…… one problem at a time, being the proactive procrastinator© I am, that my friend is a job for another day!!
Prep Entry One – 22 September 2013
Hmm – where to start? Today as I sit here and write this down, I am painfully aware of my pot hole filled memory. I jokingly call it the sieve, because if a memory or piece of information isn’t large it will fall through the holes and die a memorable death [bahaha – I crack myself up sometimes]. My mental filing is a mess and needs an overhaul, things are misfiled everywhere with memories yet to be located, by accident of course. I have often sat in with my family reminiscing over years past with all but me remembering this momentous occasion. It leaves me feeling alien in a way, like I did not actually participate in this memory of theirs, or, that I am a soul who has merely come in at an opportune moment to occupy the body of someone named Lynette and so I don’t have all the back information. Obviously that is not true but none-the-less it is one of the odd feelings I get when my memory fails me. I am sure I am not alone with this problem or ‘odd feeling’ but it is quite a lonely contemplation. You know what the strangest thing is though? At work, I don’t tend to have that problem, I suppose my brain must file that as a nugget that needs to be kept.
One thing I do remember is the day I came to love the Lord. I don’t remember the date or the time just that I was young and the memory of that moment is etched into my brain. My sisters and I were playing at the park down the street from my parents home. I think I was about 7ish but I cannot be certain, my older sister would remember that detail. All of a sudden the little scout building came alive with song, children singing praises to God, although at the time I did not know that’s what it was but it drew me. I was excited to discover what it was and who was singing. My sisters and I entered and were welcomed lovingly by the Sunday school teachers and I fell in love with the whole thing. From that time until I was about 15 years old my sisters and I went each Sunday.
The church organisation was the Salvation Army and we came to be involved in a lot of the activities which took many nights of our weeks including but not limited to tambourines, girl guides, choir and bible study. One day in my 15th year something happened that broke my heart and I was too young to really process it properly or maturely, but I lost faith in the people of my church. Now, in my maturity I know that churches are run by people and people make mistakes, knowingly and unknowingly, and they can hurt you, intentionally or unintentionally. This situation may not have been intentional but that is how I took it at the time. So I moved away from Church and indirectly, God for about 12 years.
My first ever memory I can recall was when I was little more than 6 months old, a moment of my first Christmas I believe. My mother told me that is about the time that I received my beloved stuffed pink elephant I’d named Lumpy [okay let’s face it…. I didn’t name him otherwise why is MY name NOT in the
Guinness book of records for being able to talk fluently at 6 months of age??? Mum or Dad must have done the naming but as far as I am concerned I did]. Lumpy is the reason I LOVE elephants. I remember receiving him, remember him being placed next to me as I lay there looking at him with big eyes that hurt they were open so wide with an excitement and love that completely filled me. I was ecstatic it was so big [as big as I was long] and pink [which has ever since been my favourite colour – you may not have noticed I know I am subtle about it! Yeah right; about as subtle as a flying brick to the head!]. I even remember thinking how much I loved this elephant gift and how grateful I was for it. What I failed to remember was that I was only six months old at the time of that memory. This memory came flooding back to me when I was about 10 I think maybe younger. I found Lumpy hidden away in a toy box in the shed out the back where my sisters and I always played but until that moment had never made it to the bottom of the box. Immediately I was distraught. Lumpy had shrank!!
he was now only a general sized stuffed animal not the beloved toy that I remembered!! I ran inside to my mum who was standing at the kitchen sink [yeah I know it is a cliché but it’s is also true] and me blubbering my heart out to her that Lumpy shrank wanting her to some how fix him [believing she somehow could because all mothers can fix everything! right?]. Insensitively [I thought at the time] mum laughed at me……. what the? I was hurt, why was mum laughing at me? she then explained that I had received Lumpy as a gift for my first Christmas and could not have been much older than six months old. I suddenly stopped crying at the revelation, completely shocked. I looked at Lumpy and was gob smacked at the level of emotions that I had attached to this stuffed toy so deeply that caused it to be permanently etch that into my memory never to be forgotten. If I ever get Alzhiemers it would be the last memory to go – hopefully he lasts that long so if I am unfortunate enough to suffer this horrible disease I can find comfort in knowing someone [and before you say anything, he is real and my very first friend and object of my affection!!! as weird as that is….. I did tell you I am a bit crazy didn’t I?]
Side note: Yes, Lumpy is a ‘he’ even though he is pink, there are no gender colours in my eyes. He also wears a pink ribbon but imagination states that is a bow tie. Also, yep I still have him after 40+ years! He has been loaned out to the next generation more times than I can count and will probably be loaned out the ‘grand’ generation too. He also spent a few years living with his grandmother in Cobar before returning home to me. He is well loved by the majority of my family and a very seasoned traveller. He is completely blind because has no eyes any more, they kept falling off and in the end got lost, and his ears have been sewn back on 10,000 times [slight exaggeration]. But he is the most adorable pink elephant I know and wouldn’t look the same if I gave him eyes again – well not to me anyway.
That is all for today’s entry, until next time readers have a fantastic day!