That people change, and places change, and that it isn't always good to hang onto the past through artificial memories created by photographs, video, etc. Doing so hinders growth, and makes it harder to overcome new challenges.

Presented by Mace in the film Strange Days.

That is not to say though, that you should forget the past. Just don't be held there by material memories.

(ahhhh... satisfaction! somebody finally picked up on the silent nodeshell challenge i hard-linked in Strange Days. thank you Leynos!)

lamenting over past "whatevers" can become a comfort zone.
there is familiarity in frequented emotions; it can be a very addictive crutch.
why are you holding on to those photographs of her? for posterity?
do you wear your heartbreak like a badge; waiting for someone to find your stash of vacation slides so you can tell your tale to people that never met her? they'll always take your side. maybe you can figure out where things went wrong if you watch that video of her dancing to 'You can leave your hat on' just one more time.

or are you hoping she will fall in love with the martyr you've become?

Memories fade down to their emotions over time, even pain. It's better that way. You can't pick over details and be bitter over trivial things. You can reach back and remember your past loves as feelings, not as the dinner with the perfect bottle of wine or the ring your first fiance gave you. Pain is an entire event, not just the moment when you hit the pavement and blood trickled into your mouth.

Grab a memory out of your mind. One that you cherish. Do you really want to remember the blemishes on that perfect day? You will remember the things that matter, even if they don't make sense to you. Your mind will create paths to retrieve the important memories and the ones that aren't meaningful won't be frequently accessed and they will fade. There's a reason you remember the brown mug on the table, the strands of hair that aren't yours on your clothes, and the taste of the air in your mouth.

Would you really want to go back and relive those moments if they would cease to be so pure and perfect?

I don't remember her.

I did, once. I remembered what she wore for our third date. I remembered how she touched me, and I touched her. I remembered what made her cry, and what made her smile. I remembered everything.

But memories fade. Present becomes past, and all we have is an image of what was. And when that image fades, we take an image of the image. And so on, and so on. I have no more memories, only memories of remembering the memories.

Errors creep in. Details become blurred. And though I achingly, lovingly restore the memories every time I resurrect them, like works of art exposed to too many fingerprints, I can no longer trust them to be true to the original.

My memories of her are a story, passed down over time from one generation of myself to the next. The highlights are highlighted, the best parts preserved, the worst abandoned. They are not the truth. They are a myth, preserving more message than meaning.

I think that if I remembered everything the way it was, I would no longer want to. No, it is better this way.

Memories are meant to fade. If they didn't, we wouldn't have any at all.

As I Remember a lot of it . Johannesburg. South Africa.

Houses with corrugated iron roofs. Alternately boiling and freezing as the seasons changed. Coal stoves and donkey boilers to heat the water. Icy winters hunched in front of tiny Victorian fires. Kitchen dressers with cup hooks, metal "zincs" with porcelain washbowls. Linoleum floor coverings; dusty carpet runners in passages. Coal sacks dumped in grimy backyard sheds Stables; there were very few cars Fresh eggs, laid by hens in your own chicken coops. Fruit-trees in the back garden, and veggies fresh from the soil. The butcher and the grocer calling for orders Nels Dairies and the daily delivery Rinsing off the cardboard caps for the milk bottles Can you hear the tinkle of the ice-cream cart slowly riding the suburbs and remember how the kids enjoyed the tuppeny lollies? The Newtown Market for lovely vegetables, poultry and colorful flowers Noisy auctions and horse-drawn delivery carts waiting for loads. The long distances between Reef towns before the motorways. The silences and huge emptiness of the countryside; Miles of golden grasslands between Jo'burg and Pretoria And Sandown's gentle country life with its stables and horses; it was the original "mink and manure" suburb. Quiet walks in Illovo along sandy tree-lined roads, "George's" riding stables where an international hotel stands today. Radiograms and wind-up gramophones; crystal sets with earphones. Terrible radio reception before FM and shortwave, especially during a Highveld thunderstorm. Eric Egan and jumping to 7 a.m. "physical jerks," and Lourenco Marques radio. The wonderful "English-radio" serials. Who can recall "The Man in Black?" The erudition and Irish charm of Paddy O'Byrne; but this was much later. the "Three Wise Men," and Sunday afternoon radio plays. Incredible, roaring hailstorms and stately galleons of cumulus drifting down to the Lowveld.

Coir or feather mattresses before innersprings, Black iron bedsteads, which sagged in the middle. Wardrobes with long centre panel mirrors Bentwood chairs – fly-screens on windows. Washstands with porcelain bowls and jugs; "Judge" brand saucepans and enamel coffee pots. Long-drop toilets, cut-up newspapers on a nail on the wall Mule-drawn carts and the quiet bucket-brigade removing the night-soil. Chanting gangs of laborers digging trenches to lay pipes and cables "PUTCO" buses and black cyclists riding to work each day.


A distant train's lonely whistle on a freezing winter's night. Homesick migrant worker seeking comfort in soft music on a mbira. Jew's harp Hand-cranked phones and the farm "party-line" and, a three-hour wait for a trunk-call. Plug-in switchboards and the operator's irritated, "Nommer asseblief." (Number please.)


Stinkwood and Imbuia "ball-and-claw" furniture Shepherd & Barker, who only sold the best "Sheraton" and "Chippendale" copies. Thelma Brode, who photographed everyone. Magical Japanese origami which opened under water, The whiff of incense and the gleam of beautiful fabric from an Indian bridal shop. Fine suits hand-tailored by skilled Europeans, made refugee by Hitler's persecution. Cosmopolitan Hillbrow, cosy Cafe Kranzler and their delicious imported coffee. Newspapers on sticks, and voices from all over Europe. The daily crush of hatted and gloved workers Hurrying down Twist Street when the trams were full. The designs and colors of Basuto blankets worn by Homebound mineworkers walking to Park Station. Led by an Induna, they marched with heads high, singing a song of home. Sewing machines, paraffin lamps and Prymus stoves. All found their way to the rural kraals together with other, more secret, gifts.


The Italianate beauty of the central court at Park Station and the "Blue Room" restaurant. The excitement of the long steam train journeys to the coast. The appeal for aluminium saucepans "for the War Effort" Digging "Anderson Shelters" in the back garden General and Isie Smuts and the "Little Man" lapel pin, It had something to do with raising money.. Knitting socks, balaclavas and scarves for the troops. The frightening arrival of polio, and children in "iron-lungs." Majestic whitewashed "Institute" on Hospital Hill where they discovered the viruses and made serum for snakebite which was used all over Africa. The original Wanderers Club near Park Station, The redbrick Victorian buildings of the old Johannesburg hospital.


An American model petrol pump at the side of the road, hand-cranked, two vertical glass one-gallon tanks in the metal casing filling and emptying alternately as the petrol siphons off. War shortages, and cars converted to run on paraffin. No white flour, and making butter from "top-of-the-milk." Trams and double-decker buses with overhead electric connections. Cream and red were the city's municipal colors. Agile conductor in navy uniform and cap, with his silver coin holder, tight bundle of tickets and hand-punch. Pull the cord once to stop. Then "Ting,ting" and we're off again! Delays while he hooked the electric unit onto the lines with a long bamboo pole hidden underneath the bus. The noise of reversing seats as he slapped them into position. When the end of the line was reached. Springbok-head logo on SAR train windows. Shiny, green leather bolsters bumping varnished mahogany woodwork. Smeared black and white photos of Old Cape-Dutch manor houses. "Alle kaartjies, asseblief," (All tickets please!)as we click-clack over the points, and the music of the gong signaling lunch and dinner. Dreary mine towns, coal dust and smut in your eye.


Lisle stockings, crepe de chine; the first nylons Max Factor Pancake make-up and Tangee lipstick "Evening in Paris" scent worn to your first dance. C-to-C Cape-to-Cairo cigarettes at 1/1d for 30, and 2/6d for 50. A penny, a tickey, a shilling, a half-crown, a florin and a guinea. Parity between Sterling and the South African pound. The "Rand Daily Mail" and "Angela Day" who wrote the "household hints".


Pink penny stamps with the picture of Brittania... ha-penny if the envelope was open... telegrams at a penny a word! Tea-room bios with their continuous performances. American Milk Bars, all chromium and fizz. The "Doll House" drive in roadhouse at midnight, their double-thick chocolate malteds, banana-splits, Coke-specials and hotdogs with yellow mustard. Deanna Durban, Judy Garland, Nelson Eddy, Jeannette Macdonald. Vivienne Leigh and Clark Gable in "Gone with the Wind," "The Wizard of Oz," "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs" "The Chocolate Soldier," "Mrs Miniver," "Blossoms in the Dust" and "Casablanca" Swashbuckling Erroll Flynn, darkly handsome Tyrone Power, The delicate blond beauty of Leslie Howard; Mario Lanza's fine tenor voice and the legendary Marlene Dietrich. Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall, Bette Davis, and Joan Crawford,Anne Ziegler, Webster Booth and Ivan Novello. Wednesday and Saturday matinees, 6d for kids, adults 1/1d. The Lone Ranger, his trusty horse Tonto and exotic Zorro. Hopalong Cassidy, Roy Rogers and The Durango Kid. Gene Autrey, Tex Ritter. That was when cinema was new -- a real dream factory. "Annie Get Your Gun," "Oklahoma!" and the high-kicking "Tiller Girls,"


Eloff Street trams and the elegant shops full of imported clothes, handbags and shoes. Saturday shopping at John Orrs and their white-gloved lift-girls: "Going Up!" Wonderful hats at Stuttafords, and their tearoom, where the northern suburbs ladies took tea, and nodded acquaintance to friends. OK Bazaars' Christmas windows, and "Switching on the lights" Important enough to be announced in the newspaper. The yellow haze of mine dust which hung over everything A winter evening's coal smoke turning the sunsets purple. The old Olympia Ice-rink and neighboring greyhound track. The Drive-In cinema on top of a mine dump, and MacPhails filthy coalyard, where carts pulled by emaciated horses waited for their loads. Ansteys Art-Deco building, Markhams corner with the clock, Escom House on Marshall and New Street,once the tallest building in the southern hemisphere It's Gandhi Square today


Charles Manning and his theatrical sweep of white hair. "Ag, Pleeze Deddy," and Jeremy Taylor's musical "Wait a Minim" Leon Gluckman's "King Kong" and "Ipi Tombi" by Bertha Egnos "Back o' the Moon, Boys," and "Mama Temba's Wedding" .. do you recall? "Second-show" at the Metro and being shown to your seat by a uniformed usherette with a torch. John Massey playing the cinema organ, and singing along to the "bouncing-ball". Rustling chocolate papers, lacquered hair, tight shoes, Corsets and fur coats in the Grand Circle and a thick curtain of cigarette smoke by interval. When the usherette wore a tray to sell ice-creams and lollies. The East African Pavilion and their wondrous curries. Street-corner night-watchman huddled over a brazier. Sounds of a "Penny-Whistle Boogie" on a frosty night Remember how the city was always "under construction"?


Bothner's and Gallo's music shops. Mirror-finished grand pianos and gleaming brass. The wonderland of the twinkling stars and Moorish castles at the Coliseum cinema. "His Majesty's Cellars" and their Crayfish Newburg. The Phoenix Beer-hall, a stein of draft beer,free bread, "thumb soup" and an enormous veal schnitzel. Unbelievably, the food cost 1/6d.


The "old" Carlton Hotel, focus of every big occasion; The "Debutante Spring Ball" with double rows of elegant white-gowned young ladies and their escorts Presentations and deep curtsies to the Governor-General he was the Queen's representative in tailcoat, white tie and all his decorations. Elegance and luxury at the Langham Hotel,where an eight-course formal dinner cost two guineas a couple. The Criterion, for years the hangout of newshounds, and the midday crush for drinks. Flower sellers near the City Hall and Saturday mornings spent exploring the riches of the Johannesburg Central Library.


The original Thrupps in Eloff Street, and their range of fine imported foods. Half-day closing on Wednesdays and three o'clock on Saturday. The Lutyens-designed Joubert Park Art Gallery with its superb collection of paintings and sculpture. The Edwardian fountain and splendid hothouse, and the spring flower beds. Picnics at the Zoo; excited children crowding the mounting blocks for rides on elephants and camels. Charity fairs at the Zoo Lake "for the War Effort." Soggots Corner, Publix and Stuttafords in Rosebank. Gallagher's in Orange Grove full of delicious baked goods. Narrow roads choked with peak hour traffic as the city emptied when the shops and offices closed.


Louis Botha Avenue, the only road connecting Pretoria and Joeys before the construction of the Ben Schoeman motorway. The 11-hour drive to Durban before the toll-road was built.


Aaaah ... those really were the days. If you remember all of these you are probably as old as I am, and cherish our city's heritage as much as I do.

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