Sensory Memories

My husband and I have talked about this many times . . . my memories of growing up. He thinks it is so strange, but that's because he'd just as soon forget most of his childhood. The good memories for him are professional, and most importantly our family, from the time he married my daughter and me. For that reason I understand why a lot of people would agree with him and would see my memory bank as an affliction or some psychological condition for which I need to seek treatment, but to me it is a wonderful blessing. If there is a cure, I'm not seeking it.

I've given it a name . . . sensory memories. That's because it involves every sense we have . . . sight, smell, sound, touch, and even taste. How weird is that? My daughter has some of it, but I'm not sure if it is to the same degree. Interesting that hers is about some of the same people, and I've decided it's because that emotional connection was so strong at such an early age. [Boy, do I have a lot more to say about that in days to come! Hint . . .today's kids, their parents, and their parents . . . but I digress.]

As I tell you about some of these wonderful influences in my life, bear in mind, it's not just historical, because so much of them lives in me and through me in those sensory memories. I don't want to get the cart before the horse, because I really did want to tell you why the name "Capshaw Road Reflections." That starts for me with the First Lady of Capshaw Road, Sarah. I'm sitting in silence, just me and my coffee, typing on a keyboard and the thought of her makes me smile and warms my heart and brings me comfort in a way no comfort food ever could! You will agree as you get to know this wonderful woman.

However, because I was in Alabama last week, I was looking through a drawer at my Mama's house for something I thought was lost, but wasn't. Do you ever do that? I just didn't remember where I had put it. Anyway, I ran across an envelope of pictures of the Second Lady of Capshaw Road, Judy Karen. I'm sure it was meant to be . . . the women who lived in that house. Obviously that house was meant to be run by such women; women of strength, grace, impeccable character, wisdom, unconditional love for all mankind, helpers, never a complaint or unkind word about anyone.

One died just shy of her 106th birthday, the other at 51. Both lived such full, rich lives and were such a positive influence on me. Not knowing how much time they would be given, they both lived each day to the fullest! My sensory memory has been working overtime this week. I've tasted Sarah's food, smelled her Pond's Cold Cream, heard her advice in my head [in her voice calling me "sweet darlin"], heard Judy Karen's wonderful laughter [beautiful sound], and took a drive down Capshaw Road.

These are uncertain days in which we live. There are many uncertainties in my own home. Every day is a new crisis, another catastrophe in some part of the world. Don't misunderstand me. I'm not talking about faith. My faith is in the Lord. I know the final outcome. I'm not afraid.

I'm talking about what memories bring to the journey. It was good to remember them and I know exactly what they would say to me about these days and what is going on in my life. That brings comfort, strength, and solace. It centers and stabilizes. I don't want to be cured!

Neither of those women knew the effect they had on so many lives, but because I know what that impact can do and how it lingers and can be passed from one generation to another through stories, I want to pass it on. You see, Sarah was my great grandmother, so I pray I got a little through the genes. Because I know I want to make a conscious effort to add something of value to the lives of those I come in contact with in this life, maybe a little wisdom, encouragement that can help them with their journey . . . don't you? Judy Karen was my aunt, and she was blessed with the most warm, wonderful, contagious laugh that could lift and comfort you, no matter your circumstances . . . or hers! Wouldn't it be wonderful for people to remember they felt better, more hopeful, comforted in your presence? I need to leave more laughter . . . I must make a conscious effort to do that!