Memory Lane

I've not really been in the mood to write the last few days.
I've been a bit overwhelmed with thoughts, last minute plans

and work on the new book. (At least I'm about half way done with the

new manuscript.) 

I’ve been overcome with memories lately. 

Recently, I’ve been focusing in on a memory where I went 

on a school camping trip. I’m bathed in nostalgia, whilst both

dreaming and being fearful of the future. It feels as if I’ve lived

a thousand lives, through my quarter of a century on Earth. 

I never thought I’d make it this far. I’d spent my school days dreaming

of a relief of my crippling depression, the euphoric ties of mania and 

the stomach eroding anxiety. Through books and films, I’ve experienced

the best and worst of humankind. Despite knowing that I’ve not been

to some of these places or lived in the times in which the stories take 

place, emotionally, it feels as if I was. 

MASH was a popular favourite of my father, who would pop open a beer

and put his feet up to watch it on our old late 80s-early 90s telly. It would crackle

from time to time, but seemingly always in sync with the wood stove during

the winter months. The show brings back not only memories of my father

but also the idea of my granddad. 

My granddad left photographs and blood-stained clothing in the wake

of his tours throughout the various wars. He died in 1982; 9 years before

I was born.  He was never really spoken about by my father or via my nan (his widow) I 

don’t know why probably because they each found it painful to talk about him. The memories of

losing a spouse/ father…Or the memories of losing the family dictator, as I heard him referred to. Looking through the photographs, I saw that my father bared no 

resemblance to his father, nor did either of my aunts. It was as if his entire existence

on Earth was only validated through these smudged black and white photos. 

I was overcome with anxiety.  'Would this also be the only inkling that I’d ever existed

on this planet? Photos, cheap bits of video and with luck, a few things of mine people

had held onto?’ The sickness stuck with me for the longest time; It still creeps up on me

from time to time and settles in the base of my stomach. I wonder about the impact that 

Its strange to watch episodes of MASH knowing that many of the people I’m now watching

are dead. I don’t think many stops to think how surreal this is and what a marvellous creation

film and cameras are. 

Anyway, my love for films and books grew widely and worldly, me reading in several languages now. 

English, German, French, Italian, Swedish….each story carrying to me a place and time I 

have never been to in the physical sense.  It's not only been the memories that books and films instilled in me that have been flooding me with emotion lately. 

One memory stands out more vivid that the others; at least for this moment.

Whilst I was in my secondary schooling and was wide eyed and 

scared of many things. Some of the students were going to a leadership

and team building weekend and I was invited to go along. I remember

the way the golden light seemed to echo through the old cement hall, mingling

with anxiety. It was mid-autumn, but already frost was creeping into the leaves.
I had my rucksack loaded and my sleeping bag rolled up beside me. I'd never gone on 

a trip like this before and luckily a few of my friends were also going.  We climbed onto 

the chartered bus and headed out of the city and into the wild. Thesmell of autumn seduced me 

and the sounds of AFI carried me to another place. We arrived at the lodge, where we would be 

sleeping on the floor for the weekend. Boys on one side, girls on the other. We put our geer in little 

cubbies and headed outside to do a "get to know me" excersie and the rope course.

I knew that I'd probably break my neck on the high ropes, so I waited on the ground with the 

team leader, taking photos and filming other kids doing the ropes. (I was assigned the task

of catloguing the trips the group went on for the rest of the year, as they noticed my talent 

for photos and nack for words. I asked, and still 11 years on, they still have the book. I did

for all the trips.) Once the course was completed, while the other kids were sent to set up

the fire pit and seats, I was sent to the kitchen to prepare the tea. I was paired with a girl

who didn't have enough brains to put in an egg cup, so I had her peel potatoes while I did 

the prep and the cooking.  Thankfully, I was able to ditch her when it was time for washing up.

Another girl was assigned the duty with her and I was able to slip outside. The air was cold 

and fresh. I was basking in the solitude. In truth, I never wanted to leave that spot and even 

still I find myself aching to return to that moment of pure bliss. I was fitting in okay; no one 

had made fun of me so far, I manage to eat someting in public without vomiting and I was able

to avoid the death ropes. 

Then the memory breaks, I don't remember what we were doing before this, but I don't imagine it was of any importence. As we glided on the ink coloured water, the moon was full and brilliant above us. It was larger than I ever remembered it being. The vegetarion on the sides of the water was thick with hushes of frogs and fireflies. I dipped my fingers into the icy water, letting the sensation lick up my arm. I'd never felt more alive or connected to the night. I steered the canoe along, my partner axious and laden with life vests in the front. I was having the time of my life, whilst the girl I was paired with whinged and repeatedly told me she didn't know how to swim. I told her she'd be okay, I was a great swimmer, and besides that, she was covered in life vests.  She made me promoise that I wouldn't let her drown and I promised that I wouldn't. It never did come to that, but in her hast to escape the canoe two hours later, she laded in the mud and I had to fish her out, all the while her howling woke up every animal in the surrounding area. 

We tromp back to the lodge, cold and slighty damp. After a quick shower, I snuggle down into my sleeping back surrounded by 30 other people. I lay awake listening to the sounds of sleep. The moon stares at me through the glass throughout the night as I struggle to sleep.  And then it ends...I can't remember anything else from that weekend.