Downfall or Saving Grace?

My memory is my downfall
I said love of this kind is soon forgotten, but I take that back. My memory is my downfall. It is a sealed well that doesn't lose a drop, to use an old expression. Nothing can deplete it. My memory is a powerful machine that stores and constantly discharges lost years and faces. In the past I believed that travel would blunt my memory; I was wrong. Over the years, I must admit, it has only grown stronger. Were it not for my memory, my life would be different--better. I assume. My memory fills me up until I choke on a stream of daydreams. They overflow into my sleep. My memory is rooted in every one of my limbs: any injury strengthens the flow. But in recent years I have learned to overcome this. A glass of cognac, for instance, separates me from my memory for a while. I feel relief as if after a terrible toothache.

by Aharon Appelfeld
from The Iron Tracks, Chapter One
Translated from the Hebrew by Jeffrey M.Green
[See also "That Lost Time & Place"]

Nothing is Lost
Deep in our sub-conscious, we are told
Lie all our memories, lie all the notes
Of all the music we have ever heard
And all the phrases those we loved have spoken,
Sorrows and losses time has since consoled,
Family jokes, out-moded anecdotes
Each sentimental souvenir and token
Everything seen, experienced, each word
Addressed to us in infancy, before
Before we could even know or understand
The implications of our wonderland.
There they all are, the legendary lies
The birthday treats, the sights, the sounds, the tears
Forgotten debris of forgotten years
Waiting to be recalled, waiting to rise
Before our world dissolves before our eyes
Waiting for some small, intimate reminder,
A word, a tune, a known familiar scent
An echo from the past when, innocent
We looked upon the present with delight
And doubted not the future would be kinder
And never knew the loneliness of night.

by Noel Coward
[See also "Ladies in Our Land"]

Ladies in Our Land

Coming up this weekend, to coincide with Easter Saturday and Shakespeare's 447th birthday (23 April):

my family's celebration of my mother's 80th birthdayThis picture of her the piano is everyone's favorite; and next to it is the only one that any of us can find that includes both parents and all six kids (plus little Jerrod, my older sister Peg's firstborn, being held by my younger sister Di). Underneath is our Easter picture from 1965, with Di and me in our little sailor dresses, and next to that a shot from 2009 in which we tried to re-create the same pose from 1965. [Click on picture to enlarge for a better view.]

In fact, my mother actually turned 80 on 21 January, but she didn't want us all out traveling in the blizzards, so we postponed until a more travel-friendly time of year. Easter weekend, already a celebratory festival seems perfect for the occasion! And here's the perfect poem (just wish I knew the identity of "L. R-M" ~ can anybody help me out or hazard a guess?):

TO L. R-M
There are certain ladies in our land
Still living and still unafraid
Whose hearts have known a lot of pain,
Whose eyes have shed so many tears,
Who welcomed pity with disdain
And view the fast encroaching years
Humorously and undismayed.

There are certain ladies in our land,
Whose courage is too deeply bred
To merit unreflecting praise.
For them no easy, glib escape;
No mystic hopes confuse their days;
They can identify the shape
Of what's to come, devoid of dread.

There are certain ladies in our land
Who bring to Life the gift of gay
Uncompromising sanity.
The past, for them, is safe and sure.
Perhaps their only vanity
Is that they know they can endure
The rigours of another day.

by Noel Coward, 1899 - 1973
Witty, flamboyant British playwright, composer, actor, singer

Don't look too closely at this one or else you will see my typo:
2010 -- should be 2011!