day in a life

I have been thinking a lot about memory. I have been wandering what my son will remember when he grows up, if it'll be that I got mad or that I was very strict with him or that I would play with him and read for him. When I look back one of my earliest memories is of my dad reading for me, not a Disney book but I novel by an icelandic author, not written for kids. I loved it, the main character had the same name as me and she had an odd friend(the author of the book). I started thinking how many of my memories are connected with books and music. One of my brothers hardly ever played with me but I remember when he let me sit with him when he was listening to Queen on the record player.I remember a difficult time as a teenager when I only listened to Jeff Buckley and read a lot of Hemingway.

I remember reading to my friends when I was a kid and was just learning how to read.

My first summer after I broke up with my ex, when my son spent two weeks with him I would lie in my garden on a blanket reading Doctor Zhivago, it was the perfect way to spend my time alone.

My teacher said that Sartre almost saw books as religion as a kid and I think I did that, and do. I tell my son of all religions I know but the thing that brings us together at night and the thing that combines all the religions are the books we read.

Of all the things we do what makes us remember, I loved reading Proust and see how he remembered, taste and smell brings it all back.

I could mentioned hundreds of books that are a part of a memory or remind me of a certain period.

I was thinking about writing an essay about Farewell to arms and All quiet on the western front but that would mean going through Farewell again and that is a book that reminds of some bad times.

Maybe it's time to dust of the cover and dive in.