I would imagine that most people have an aesthetic appreciation for deteriorated objects that have worn away by time and use. We all love our jeans that have been worn so many times that the material is soft, each stain and hole has a story, and they fit just right. Time has worn away the stiffness. All the hard edges have been blunted through use and love.
Tonight I recalled a memory that I am not sure if I have ever revisited from when I was probably 4 or 5 years old. "The older the memories are, and the less we have visited them, the better they become, much like wine"
Jack Kerouac
This memory was especially sweet. I remember playing under the table, and I catch glimpses from the whole scene. There is something about the memory that is especially interesting though, it is only sweet. I have no negative feelings at all. In fact it is nothing but bright and fuzzy, like my old jeans. I have a feeling that as life passes away all the negative, bad stuff gets put in the boxes at the bottom of our memories, all the others are moved to the top, and become soft woolly blankets, just waiting to wrap us up.
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