A Photographic View of Life

"I have a peculiarly good memory for visual details, for certain moments. It's not exactly a photographic memory. I can't read a page of text and repeat it verbatim without looking. But I can summon pieces of my past and 'see' them as clearly as if they have been thrown onto a screen in some interior movie theater. There are times when this is more a curse than a gift...but it helps with the kinds of painting I do, and it's not the kind of thing a person can change in any case." --Roland Merullo In Revere, In Those Days.

I have photographic view of life. I remember shirts that my interviewers wore at my first professional job. I remember my first drive up to Estes Park on US 36, and my feelings of confusion at the dry, desert landscape that preceded the climb into the mountains. I remember when my ex-husband and I were dating, what it felt like dropping him off at his house, after our first week-long vacation in Gatlinburg. Not even 2 hours later, he was back at my house because he missed me.

I have a lot of wonderful memories locked away in this head of mine, filled with exquisitely fine details of the people and the places and the feelings that went with both. It is a blessing and a curse. It's a blessing to remember the things that remain true. It's a curse to remember what went wrong and why. I am haunted by a mind that is designed to make sense of every exquisite detail. But I am thankful for what that mind allows me to do. I take these details and turn them to every angle. I construct stories that resemble them; and heal with each word that brings meaning to their happiness and sadness.