Passing of the Chateau

 

Le Chateau au Chat Gris has passed over the horizon. Not to worry; the cat is fine. This weekend we left Byzantium to visit family and look into a replacement for the 1999 Rattling Battle Wagon. The latter is now up for sale, and I'll be cruising in La Longue Carabine Rouge. 

The sunset of the chateau is a sad event. Most of our children grew up there. The youngest may not even remember our other homes - and she just got married. Another daughter and Les Freres Corses lived there with us for a year or two and then for another year after we left for Byzantium. We didn't get to enjoy our last trips to the place because we were busy moving our belongings and hauling off the accumulation of debris--discarding memories.

Stuff accumulates in life, and it's a constant struggle to decide which items can still be of service, which are so attached to memory that they can't be discarded, and which ones should've been sent to the trash at least two moves ago. We had a lot of the latter and hauled several pickup loads to the graveyard of discarded stuff - unfortunately, those loads also included items laden with memory. I know I took too much time sorting through the junk and reminiscing, but some artifacts of anamneses require a lingering stroll through the valley of recollection before jettison into the void. Trash mingled with articles past their prime meshed with cherished souvenirs departed from our lives by the pickup load.

Needless to say, we were exhausted from both the physical labor and the constant questioning about the relative worth and resolution to retain or reject individual accretions of time. I can see the benefit of retaining nothing--the decision is made one time and never has to be revisited again. However, what happens to the memories when the triggers vanish? What then summons the genie of reminiscence? Does the recollection fade like Marty McFly's family photograph? 

I suppose, if there's nothing else to resurrect the remembrance, it dies that second death, buried forever beneath the deep soil of new experiences and recent recollections, never to rise again. However, I think other experiences, words, smells, and those with whom we made the memories can ignite the spark to blow the souvenirs from the tomb to enjoy a walk in the sun of life again--for at least another brief moment--and having risen once, the recollection becomes easier to recall, and may spring forth at new opportunities as the experience that prompted the resurrection becomes another association. Of course, there may be a way to seize pick and spade to extract the remains of memory from the sod at will, but the soil grows unyielding over the years and who can remember where to dig?

On a happier note, I did get to have ice cream with Les Freres Corses, and we discussed the adventure book to be published in November, as well as some possibilities for the sequel. As I expected, the one whose name starts with  C, as he put it, performed true to form and wants that character to get the magical powers in the sequel. The ideas are coming together. In the meantime, I have a detective story to finish.