I forgot

I forgot that 2021 was my Year of Remembering. The leaves have fallen, the year half done, and finally it has dawned on me.

At the beginning of each year, I usually write something to get things started, usually about the possibilities that the latest theme might bring. But not this year. It could have been the summer storms, the pandemic, the mouse plague … all were distractions, and two still are!

I don’t like to plan these things too much. My yearly theme is supposed to be a loose, let’s-see-were-it-leads format. But I do need to actually start, and that’s where that first “here we go” post is an important trigger.

So, pretending its January, and it’s stinking hot, and the lettuce have bolted … here we go!

I turn around. The coloured lines on the paper silently cry out in vivid red: Remembering.

Why did the large piece of paper hanging on my wall become increasingly invisible? There, and nowhere. Assorted thoughts are scrawled across it’s broad expanse.

hoarding versus stockpiling

manufactured nostalgia versus history versus nostalgia for the senses

commodification (antique distressing!)

Which all sounds very over-the-top when all I really want is a few blog posts about family history. I take encouragement from Kewpie Doll, that tentative first step. Perhaps she should be my mascot.

Ooo. There’s a thought. A mascot for each Year Of theme!

Is that a look of apprehension, or is she rolling her eyes at my idea?!

For far too long, the latest jigsaw has been the latest jigsaw. Will I finally accept that I have a problem with those that are predominantly green?

And the topic is on theme. Jigsaws are a proven method for keeping our memories sharper than they might otherwise be. So it’s important that the puzzling process keeps on puzzling.

I thought this Monet of his lily pond would be a lovely idea for winter, and it might have been, except that I do other things instead. Time to recognise that pushing through with this one is not happening; bag it, box it, and move on.

But I will keep it for summer, just in case.

How many jigsaws there are in the world! It’s not a question. It’s scary. I have boxes of jigsaw boxes, not because I’m attached to them but because I can’t give them away. Family will borrow but usually return them when done.

This lack of attachment is novel in my world.

Perhaps strong attachment is avoided by only piecing each one once.

Or perhaps the subsequent blog post helps by replacing attachment with remembering. Still on theme.

Bagged and boxed. On to the next:

A very not green jigsaw!


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