Your comments on making marks brought to mind two memories: one, walking through some 13th-century European cathedral or another, where some of the workers who built the cathedral had carved out their names or marks in stone that they placed. In the 20th century, the cathedral caretakers had framed a few on the wall close to eye level and drawn attention to it with a sign. It's a reminder that, who built that cathedral? Regular people, some of whom had the same impulses that you or I might have carving our names into a school desk or a street sign.
Two, in college in 2001, I lived in the same dormitory that my grandmother lived in during WW2. My friends and I got into the attics there a few times, which were full of marks from a century of college students. Was my grandmother's name in there somewhere? I never got to ask her, but I like to imagine her younger self up there making her mark with her friends.
My family is the second family to live in my parents' house. It's a small town, and one of my high school friend's mother grew up in my house. In the basement, there is a piece of trim that the previous family used to mark the kids' height over the years. It's still there! I love it.
One of my favorite things, when I visit a cave or national park or some historical site, is to find and look at all the years-old graffiti. St Edward's Chair in Westminster Abbey is absolutely covered by graffiti over the years, especially from the 18th & 19th century. I don't think we should be carving our names into rocks in natural sites or on historical artifacts, but I do like to look at them and I do understand the impulse. We all want to leave our mark & be remembered.
I had a magnolia warbler for about a week this year! It was the first time I’ve seen one — so vibrant!
I’m happy because I have a few new summer residents (I think). Oriels are nesting somewhere in the back yard — I love seeing their flashy orange at sunrise and sunset. A female hummingbird has been around a bunch… and I just recently spotted a tiny and shy house wren in my bushes for a few days in a row. I guess there’s something about the consistency that appeals to me even more than the surprising visitors passing through.
I still think about the random bench I came across in a small town that, instead of having a "in loving memory of so and so" or even a name, just had HE TRIED inscribed in block letters.
Sophie, I loved this essay and thinking about how memories stick, how they create a staying path in our brain.
"It was important because of the mark; because making the mark on the sign etched out a little path in my brain that is still there, even if I can no longer inhabit much about the person I was when I made it. You never know when one of those is going to form. Sometimes you think, “I will remember this,” and then you forget it."
Yes, yes!
Yesterday I was at a reunion of former newspaper coworkers, and one of them had photos of events I'd long forgotten. And I kept saying, "I can't believe you remember!" And she relied, "I remember because I have the photos! You would remember too if you had them." And I think she was right. A photo would have been a little mark that kept the path in my neurons from fading.
So hmm, pencil etchings and photo taking (and preserving) just got ranked a little higher today.
Thanks, as always, for spending time on this newsletter with us.
The thing I relate to most of all is my mom self not being able to relate to my child self. It really is like I was a caterpillar. In my type of parenting circles, the theme of remember seems to come up a lot and that’s hard for me.
When I was a child, I had a 70s closet with sliding doors. When my sister and I played house, it was the elevator up to my apartment. So I drew elevator buttons inside on the door frame. When my dad was getting the house ready to sell, I went up to check and they were still there. People repaint the closet but they don’t climb inside to see the back of the doorframe. There’s really no way to see if it’s still there.
Your comments on making marks brought to mind two memories: one, walking through some 13th-century European cathedral or another, where some of the workers who built the cathedral had carved out their names or marks in stone that they placed. In the 20th century, the cathedral caretakers had framed a few on the wall close to eye level and drawn attention to it with a sign. It's a reminder that, who built that cathedral? Regular people, some of whom had the same impulses that you or I might have carving our names into a school desk or a street sign.
Two, in college in 2001, I lived in the same dormitory that my grandmother lived in during WW2. My friends and I got into the attics there a few times, which were full of marks from a century of college students. Was my grandmother's name in there somewhere? I never got to ask her, but I like to imagine her younger self up there making her mark with her friends.
Dear Sophie,
I love it here.
Thank you for here-ing.
Love
Myq
My family is the second family to live in my parents' house. It's a small town, and one of my high school friend's mother grew up in my house. In the basement, there is a piece of trim that the previous family used to mark the kids' height over the years. It's still there! I love it.
One of my favorite things, when I visit a cave or national park or some historical site, is to find and look at all the years-old graffiti. St Edward's Chair in Westminster Abbey is absolutely covered by graffiti over the years, especially from the 18th & 19th century. I don't think we should be carving our names into rocks in natural sites or on historical artifacts, but I do like to look at them and I do understand the impulse. We all want to leave our mark & be remembered.
I had a magnolia warbler for about a week this year! It was the first time I’ve seen one — so vibrant!
I’m happy because I have a few new summer residents (I think). Oriels are nesting somewhere in the back yard — I love seeing their flashy orange at sunrise and sunset. A female hummingbird has been around a bunch… and I just recently spotted a tiny and shy house wren in my bushes for a few days in a row. I guess there’s something about the consistency that appeals to me even more than the surprising visitors passing through.
I still think about the random bench I came across in a small town that, instead of having a "in loving memory of so and so" or even a name, just had HE TRIED inscribed in block letters.
Sophie, I loved this essay and thinking about how memories stick, how they create a staying path in our brain.
"It was important because of the mark; because making the mark on the sign etched out a little path in my brain that is still there, even if I can no longer inhabit much about the person I was when I made it. You never know when one of those is going to form. Sometimes you think, “I will remember this,” and then you forget it."
Yes, yes!
Yesterday I was at a reunion of former newspaper coworkers, and one of them had photos of events I'd long forgotten. And I kept saying, "I can't believe you remember!" And she relied, "I remember because I have the photos! You would remember too if you had them." And I think she was right. A photo would have been a little mark that kept the path in my neurons from fading.
So hmm, pencil etchings and photo taking (and preserving) just got ranked a little higher today.
Thanks, as always, for spending time on this newsletter with us.
The thing I relate to most of all is my mom self not being able to relate to my child self. It really is like I was a caterpillar. In my type of parenting circles, the theme of remember seems to come up a lot and that’s hard for me.
When I was a child, I had a 70s closet with sliding doors. When my sister and I played house, it was the elevator up to my apartment. So I drew elevator buttons inside on the door frame. When my dad was getting the house ready to sell, I went up to check and they were still there. People repaint the closet but they don’t climb inside to see the back of the doorframe. There’s really no way to see if it’s still there.