where history goes

 I was talking with my sister last evening, a long remembrance really. She is only two years older than myself but our memories sure are different when talking about the early years. It is always fun when she is in the mood to talk about those times. We all have memories that we aren't too sure of. I think of them as memories in the mist. Do I remember them, seeing them in my minds eye, or am I remembering the stories I have been told ? Being the youngest I have taken on the unofficial role as family historian. There is much I do not know, as I discover each time I speak with my sister. My oldest brother has passed on, as the saying goes, and so much of his story is lost to me. I suppose that is what happens when you grow up and move away. It is something I often think about, the what if part of living. What if we had all stayed in our hometown, would we have stayed connected ? It's a nice thought but I know that it doesn't always happen that way. My Mom had brothers and sisters close by and seldom saw them. I had cousins galore that I knew nothing about. So, I'm well aware life isn't like the Waltons.

 When we were children we did share everything. We were not judgmental, we were just friends. Funny how when you grow up you start to hide certain things , even from your own brothers and sisters. But it isn't an intentional thing, you just don't want to share your mistakes or indiscretions with them. We haven't forgotten how such information can be used as a weapon ! I'm telling ! That was a common threat I heard growing up. I wonder sometimes if that is a part of our moral makeup. The things we are unwilling to openly share are the things we know to be wrong on some level. It doesn't have to be a major offense, quite the contrary, it can be the smallest of things. Things like taking the last piece of candy or telling a bit of a fib. Fibs aren't lies you know, just a reinvention of the truth.

 But now we are all reaching the age of maturity. Now we can discuss those things and laugh. I am aware that there are things best left unsaid, the proverbial let sleeping dogs lie thing. It is best to allow the other person to share whatever it is they want to share, don't be greedy. I do tend to be greedy in that regard, I want to know more. That is the historian in me. I do want to know why. The only way you can really know that is ask and get the answer from the individual that experienced the event. Even then, the best you can hope for is an unbiased view. Problem is we all have some inherent bias. We can't help that, it is human nature. It is all a matter of trust. Can you trust the other person with your secrets ? Trust and love are co-dependent. Each grows in response to the other.

 Well I have wandered off once again, I often do. I began thinking about my " memories in the mist " of time. I Googled that phrase and found it is the title to a book by Sherri Lynn, so I take no credit for the assemblage of those words. That is what authors do, assemble words into thoughts. I am interested to learn the history of my family. What will become of that history after my passing ? That is a subject I find preoccupying my thoughts when I stare at the pictures on my walls or my " artifacts " from the past. The shroud of time can obscure the picture making it difficult to discern. Just where does history go ?