There was the moon when it was the color of mango flesh.
The dog who nearly fell over with excitement when she saw me.
And a folk song about summer roads that I could listen to all night long.
How my mother knows that I like bananas more brown than green.
And the barista who gave me a cup with the extra milk after she steamed too much.
These are a collection of small sweets. Easily forgotten points of beauty on the map of a common day.
I could run over them, past them in the haste of ordinary life.
They probably won’t make it into any year-end highlights or holiday letters. If I only saw you every so often, I’d be more likely to tell you about the relationship that went sour than the grocery store owner who always remembers my name.
But I have decided I want to be an active participant in what fills my memory. For our time is the sum of things both large and little.
I am sharing these small sweets with you to commemorate them. I want to lift them up into the higher shelf of my consciousness, the shelf I draw from when I think back over a day, a season, a couple of years.
So much of our minds are made up of what we remember. And I’ve come to believe that these small sweets are worthy of our memory.