This is the time of year set aside for retrospectives.
I can’t really see the point in them, myself.
In particular, the sports crowd seem to go mad at the end of the year telling us all the great things that happened. Padraig Harrington did well at golf. Ireland did well at cricket. So what? Congratulations to all concerned, but if you are interested in these things you’ll remember them anyway. And if you’re not interested, then why do you need to be reminded?
Maybe the one exception is retrospectives about Bertie and Harney. Salt needs to be rubbed in the wounds. And for some obscure reason, the Irish electorate have the memory span of a goldfish. Which, of course means that they’ll have forgotten about the retrospectives by next week.
A lot of things have happened to me in the last year. Some of them, I’ll remember, but most I’ll forget because they’re not important. And frankly, I don’t particularly want to remember the unimportant things. They are junk cluttering up my memory. So I don’t want to be reminded of them.
There are a few highlights that I want to remember. I will remember them because I have tangible reminders, like photographs, or files on my computer.
Unfortunately though, one of my big highlights has no written record. There are no photographs. It was a fleeting moment in time that was spontaneous and unwitnessed.
I won’t forget it though.
It was the moment Puppychild flung her arms around me for a big hug.
Then she softly ran her little fingers through my beard and whispered