Memory

I am over the moon that my family is coming into town. I am so ultra excited, I can't hardly take it. Memory is such an amazing thing, such a precious gift. I hold on to the fabulous memories I have from past Thanksgivings when we would celebrate in Malibu and enjoy the meal on a chilly winter evening. I have never cooked a turkey before, so tomorrow is going to be interesting, to say the least. Why they chose to come to the house of someone who hates food is beyond me. Marc suggested we take out sushi, but you know we would never find it in this town on a holiday like Thanksgiving.

I think it is strange how memory will taunt and delight. Memories creep back in from out of nowhere. Driving down to West Palm yesterday to brave Whole Foods, I was reminded of one Thanksgiving years ago. I was house sitting for some people on the cliffs above Zuma beach. They had two adorable golden retrievers, Rosy and Riley, I was looking after. I will never forget those sweet dogs and that amazing house. I got up early and walked the dogs on the beach across the street, never appreciating how hard the owners must have worked for that home (one of four they owned) and lifestyle. The lifeguard came out and told me I was beyond the boundaries of the designated dog area for the shore, so we jogged on out and back to the house. The morning was spectacular and the beach was sleepy and empty, save for a few runners every now and again.

I remember staying in the house and my friend, Todd, came over. I never thought anything of him, can't even remember how I met him, but he seemed like such a nice guy. He used to tell me about how his girlfriend had recently broken up with him and ripped his heart out. He was so depressed when I first met him, he told me he contemplated throwing himself off the cliffs above the reef. He was so intense, his icy green eyes would pierce and terrify me at the same time, and yet somehow, we were always together. He loved dogs, and they flocked to him, too.

Some weeks later, I was house sitting again for another Malibu resident, and after being out with my friend, Bob, until 2 am, someone was knocking on the glass doors out back at the veranda. After almost having a heart attack for fear of an intruder in the middle of the night, I realized it was just Todd. Todd? What was he doing at my back door, and how did he know I had just come home at this crazy hour? Okay, I realized he was psycho and kind of stalkerish. I let him in anyway because he was like a lost puppy and I admit I liked the attention. "Who were you out with until this hour? Come out and look at the moon. It is so bright and beautiful," he demanded. After a few more dramatic episodes like that, I had to cut him off. Where is he now?

Memory is such a funny thing. Sometimes it serves us well and sometimes, like dreams, memory is so random and difficult to decipher. Why do memories bubble to the surface like they do? Why did I even think about Todd yesterday without a thought to his whereabouts in the last 13 years? Weird. Does memory help us work through all the bits and pieces of lost time and places, unrequited love and lost opportunities? I assume so, but sometimes it seems so cruel. Not that I miss Todd, but I miss Malibu and old friends. I'm sure even more so now that the holidays are upon us.