The Memory Collective is the recreation of a project I found on the internet one lazy afternoon at my office. The mission of the Memory Collective is to explore the nature of memory, specifically the act and art of remembering: how we do (and don't) put back together those fragments and shards, those fleeting images and lasting impressions, that reside in our memories. At the start of our project, participants each submit a memory fragment. Each fragment was then passed on to another participant to interpret through the lens of their own memory. Our memories are published as a series in this newsletter. I encourage you to notice what these memories bring up for you: images, emotions, stories, regrets, earworms. What exists on the periphery of our memory? If you missed them, here are the first, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth installments.
This week, I leave you with a final memory for you to interpret through the lens of your own experience. See what this brings up for you. Home? Or something like that? I welcome you to send me your response if you like. As always, thank you for reading.
Andrew Bell’s memory:
The smell of rolling rock beer. Growing up near the brewery I have this strong recollection that the entire 1st ward smelled like rolling rock. My dad would come home from work and smell like it. I would play at the playground and when I needed to catch my breath after running or playing whatever sport we were playing, I would inhale the air and smell and taste the beer. I liked the smell. Maybe it wasn't as strong as I remember it.
Christmas Eve at Grandma and Grandpap Bells. Christmas eve always took place at grandma/grandpaps house on the hill. Huge basement. I remember the carpet I used to play on as a kid, brown/yellow/gold ish? There was a pool table where I would play under. The bar where people would sit. I remember folding tables being placed on the left wall as you come down the stairs, thats where the food was. To the right as you came down the stairs was the sitting area and fireplace. I think it was a real fire, but I can't recall.
My Great Aunt Catherine (Catie?). I just realized I don't know how to spell her name. We called her Catie/Katie and her name was Catherine, so I imagine it was spelled Catie. Regardless, she was the first person I really remember dying. I must have been 5 or 6 or 7? She died a little after New Years I think. I remember my mom going to visit her for the last time, I think we were having a party at our house when she decided to go. She asked if I wanted to join her and I said no. I was having fun with my friends (probably Ricky, Nathaniel, Tessa, Kreighton, the usual suspects). She died very shortly after that occasion. I felt regret for not going for a long time.
I remember playing in the park near the brewery as a child with my Swintek cousins. We would walk there from Grandma and Grandpa Swintek's house on Tacoma Avenue on spring or summer days to hit the playground or ball field. The house on Tacoma Avenue had a big side yard that we used to play in but to have a softball game we needed to go to the park.
Another great thing about walking to the park was passing Dankos corner store on the way. All sorts of penny candy or ice cream could be found in there. I thought I was special whenever Grandma would choose me to go with her to Dankos to pick up some chipped ham and cheese to make sandwiches for lunch.