Curated

  It is something I have written about on several occasions. This morning however it occurred to me what I'm really doing is curating my memories. That thought came to mind as I wound the mantle clock that came from great grandfathers house. I have been working on a display case for another article that came from that home, one that was built by my great uncle Fred for his sister, my great grandmother Lucy. There is a story behind all these, and many other objects and I intend to write them down. It's a process I have begun a couple times and set aside. I find myself distracted by the object sometimes. 

  I don't think of those things as museum pieces. Surely I'm not that old, am I? Well, apparently that is exactly what I have been creating in my home all these years. I am the curator of that. The things from my great grandparents certainly qualify for a museum, they are old and dusty. Even my fathers things, from his time in the war would qualify. As for my own, no, nothing historic about any of my stuff. That's the thought I struggle with. It just seems pretentious to think along those lines. I do think about all of this often enough, one of the reasons for these blogs. I do wish to leave a record of my thoughts for future generations to ponder. An explanation of sorts. Look, if I don't tell the story that leaves it open for someone else and the story may be quite a bit different. 

  But I believe we all do that at some point, curate our memories. The simple truth being, you can't remember it all and that is by design. If you don't let some things go, just forget about it, it can hamper your happiness. For that reason we choose to remember the good times more readily than the mistakes we made. My memories are composed of the past. Seems like an obvious statement, no big revelation there, right? Well, except that it is. Perhaps you have to reach a certain age to fully grasp that. I recall my dad telling me about the first time he saw a television and what a marvel that was. By that time it was of course, old hat, and he didn't make a big deal about that. I remember getting my first pocket calculator and thinking how cool that was. Tv's on a wrist watch were the stuff of Dick Tracy, science fiction. Today that is science fact. 

  Thinking back, curating those memories I am surprised. I'm surprised how quickly things can change and I adapt those changes as everyday stuff. It isn't just technology and medicine, although they certainly take the forefront in most discussions of the past. It seems like several generations must pass before "historical" discussion begin to take place. What I mean is, the discussion of why events took place. The motivations are debated a few generations after the event and often do not jibe with the original intent. 

 Social commentary. I'm thinking my generation may be the first to begin recording all that social commentary, in real time. Prior to the advent of computers, the internet and all the social platforms only a few scholars were writing commentary, along with the newspapers. And newspapers were always notoriously biased, depending upon the city/location they served. The concern today is who does own/control social media platforms. Might be Russians or Chinese people! You can't be certain.

 I have often thought what where the thoughts of great great grandfather James (called Jim by his contemporaries) about serving in the civil war. Did he support the northern cause or just answer the call to duty? There are different degrees to loyalty. Years later he would suffer from a "nervous breakdown." He recovered and I can't help but wonder if his war experiences were the cause of that breakdown. Great grandmothers sister, Laura Rose, passed away when just 17. In a photograph of her she appears pregnant. I have never found a marriage record and no mention of anything except her death. What happened? Great Grandmother Lucy never left a record of that a far as I know. Grandfather Reichart left this two boys with Great Grandmother Lucy after his wife, her daughter passed away shortly after giving birth. Why did he do that? He remarried, had two more boys and lived in the same town. What social commentary was there regarding that. I'll never know those answers, they are lost to time and shrouded in speculation. 

 Whatever I write, whatever objects and artifacts I save is "curating a memory." That is the action being taken. It's a responsibility. The strange thing about that is the responsibly lies completely within yourself, and is for yourself. It is a selfish thing that I attempt to justify. I employ guilt in an effort to have others value those curated items, including my own memories. I do want future generations to hold those objects, hear the stories, and know the past. We are all the "curator" for the future. Although we tend to think of a curator as one that collects old stuff, like those museum pieces, we are all in fact, a curator. How do you want your story told? Are you the hero, or are you just the common man? Boastful or humble? People generally believe what they see, it's your turn to paint that picture. You can curate that future. What do you select?