This weekend is turning out to be action-filled.
On Saturday, I spent the morning at the office working on several projects I need to get done before retiring on Tuesday. I suspect I am going to leave some things undone when I leave.
I then drove up to Portland to have a late lunch with friends from Olympia. The three of us attended law school together, and I would regularly stay with them when I would perform reserve duty at McChord AFB. And they would visit me almost as regularly when I lived in Milwaukie.
Seeing them again was a pleasure. As we reminisced, I realized how much of my own past will disappear when I cannot meet with them regularly. They remember bits I have forgotten -- almost entirely. But talking with them brought back a few.
Memory is odd. I cannot account for why I remember some things as if hey happened yesterday.
The stranger experience, though, is when friends start talking about events that I swear never occurred -- until they whip out the evidence, as in some cheesy Perry Mason courtroom drama.
A case in point. I met Bob and Hilary on a trip top Morocco in the 70s. We became fast friends. They eventually came to the States on a visit in the late 80s. We were sharing tales when Bob said he found it funny that I rode a camel in Morocco. Funny, I responded, but it never happened. He opened their photo album - and there I was: a scruffy faux Lawrence of Arabia.
Now, why would I forget that? Or clowning with Andrew Lloyd Webber? Or the name of the woman I dated In England who I was positive would be the next ex-Mrs. Cotton?
A fellow blogger recently noted that one difference we had was that I kept in contact with my network of friends. You can see why I do. Without them, I would wake up every morning with very little past. It certainly helps me to live in The Moment.
I am writing this late Saturday night. I have just finished researching and preparing my lesson for Sunday school tomorrow -- a day that will be as busy as Saturday was.
After Sunday school and church, a video student wanted to it down and talk about his life. The two of us have been having some very good conversations. And then, that evening, I will be having dinner with regular commenter Teresa, and fellow bloggers Cynthia and Mike.
My weekends are usually devoted to reading. But this has been a nice change. Friends are always welcome as I start my new life south of the border.
On Saturday, I spent the morning at the office working on several projects I need to get done before retiring on Tuesday. I suspect I am going to leave some things undone when I leave.
I then drove up to Portland to have a late lunch with friends from Olympia. The three of us attended law school together, and I would regularly stay with them when I would perform reserve duty at McChord AFB. And they would visit me almost as regularly when I lived in Milwaukie.
Seeing them again was a pleasure. As we reminisced, I realized how much of my own past will disappear when I cannot meet with them regularly. They remember bits I have forgotten -- almost entirely. But talking with them brought back a few.
Memory is odd. I cannot account for why I remember some things as if hey happened yesterday.
The stranger experience, though, is when friends start talking about events that I swear never occurred -- until they whip out the evidence, as in some cheesy Perry Mason courtroom drama.
A case in point. I met Bob and Hilary on a trip top Morocco in the 70s. We became fast friends. They eventually came to the States on a visit in the late 80s. We were sharing tales when Bob said he found it funny that I rode a camel in Morocco. Funny, I responded, but it never happened. He opened their photo album - and there I was: a scruffy faux Lawrence of Arabia.
Now, why would I forget that? Or clowning with Andrew Lloyd Webber? Or the name of the woman I dated In England who I was positive would be the next ex-Mrs. Cotton?
A fellow blogger recently noted that one difference we had was that I kept in contact with my network of friends. You can see why I do. Without them, I would wake up every morning with very little past. It certainly helps me to live in The Moment.
I am writing this late Saturday night. I have just finished researching and preparing my lesson for Sunday school tomorrow -- a day that will be as busy as Saturday was.
After Sunday school and church, a video student wanted to it down and talk about his life. The two of us have been having some very good conversations. And then, that evening, I will be having dinner with regular commenter Teresa, and fellow bloggers Cynthia and Mike.
My weekends are usually devoted to reading. But this has been a nice change. Friends are always welcome as I start my new life south of the border.
