The other day a friend shared one of those Facebook memories that we all get and see. It was a picture of his daughter. She’s away at college now and he found the “memory” to be bittersweet.
I sometimes wonder why we keep those mementos around, why we dive into the bittersweet. Old photos that remind us of what used to be. I suppose we always have reminders of the past somewhere surrounding us – trinkets and heirlooms, gifts and symbols… they used to be relegated to shoe boxes, old ticket stubs, scraps of paper and notes. Now with so much of our lives contained in our glassy palm-sized computer appendages, we get the reminders whether we seek them out or not.
I spent a lot of time tonight wanting to write. I had nothing to write about, or at least nothing I felt I could settle on. I briefly considered writing about the ethical dilemma of wanting a vaccine, seeing open appointments, but knowing it’s not my turn yet (I haven’t scheduled one, though I could with no questions asked). I thought about writing about the differences between dogs and cats – I love dogs, but think I like cats better. I thought about writing about time and choice and control… again.
I checked my phone over a dozen times while not writing… scrolled through this, skipped that song, checked that app. I opened my photos thinking maybe I’d find something to write about. Google photos had a compilation of selfies of me with beers… it called the collection cheers. It also had a slideshow called “recent highlights” which included pictures of the dog and two pictures I took as I tried to create a self-portrait using the sun’s reflection off of a table.
Cheers 
The Dog
self portrait in light 
self portrait in light 2
The photo slide show then went to one year ago, two years ago, etc. etc. A year ago was Nick, my cat, on the balcony in Memphis and sunsets over the Mississippi. Two years ago was Zelle, a different dog playing in the dirt at my house, and my ex-fiancee and my then best friend on a hike. Three years ago, pictures of Paris, my other cat, and Nick curled up together enjoying some sunshine.
The pets (Nick, Paris, and Zelle), the people (the ex and the best friend), the places (Memphis, Yardley) are all gone now. Well, only the cats are gone gone… It’s amazing how unrecognizable a life can become in a few short years. All of those people, places, and pets at some point and in some way were once grounding forces – parts of life that created a sense of home.
I suppose as we emerge from a lost year, a year of distance and moderation, a lot of things might only be slightly recognizable – all of it belonging to a time before,