Deep Cove and Memory

 There are a few things my ruined shoulders have taken away that are very painful.  One is kayaking.  I came across this photo while looking through some older pictures stored in on Picasa.  Of all the times Tony and I went out on the water, this one at Deep Cove is my favorite.  The day was very overcast, but the water was smooth as glass.  It was so still that we paddled much farther out than on other, sunny days.  The cove is sparsely peppered with small islands of rock and seaweed.  On this day, they were covered with birds.  I always brought my camera when we kayaked, so I was able to take pictures......my web album has 100 shots of the trip.  There are an equal number of the rocky cliffs surrounding the cove.  We were able to paddle right up to the enormous walls of rock, so close that we bounced off the sides as we floated with the waves. 

I often thought that kayaking was the greatest experience of my life.

I suppose there are several experiences that at the time seemed overwhelmingly wonderful.  I am lucky to have had them, and lucky now to remember them.  Some are just moments that flash into my mind at odd moments.  I knew at the time to press them there like flowers in a book.  One was riding the horse I leased in Calais, Cheyenne.  I was riding alone in the fall woods, surrounded by yellow leaves.  I looked down at Cheyenne's neck, and then around me.  "This is it," I told myself.  "A perfect moment.  Notice it and remember it."  And I did.   There are many, many more glimpses into the past that live vividly in my brain, ready to be called back in remarkable detail.  I relive them from behind my own eyes in seconds or minutes that block the present so completely it does not exist.  They are always intensely happy moments. 

My painful memories involve animals for the most part, general and specific thoughts that are almost unbearable.  They are much more unpredictable.  I never know when they will appear or how long they will last.  They are very close to the surface and attack without warning.

Well, I suppose that is the human condition.  Our minds have an imperfect filtering system.