I had a memory. Very vivid. My attic. It was completely cleaned out. (This is an American problem that may not be duplicated among my global readers…but it’ll relate.)

I had not been up there for several years. But there was that vivid memory. I even told the house inspector it was clear.

We are moving to a smaller house, so it was time to clean out, throw out, move out. I got the ladder out and climbed up. The plywood “door” would barely slide back. I had no room to get off the ladder onto the attic floor. I spent five hours carrying and pitching stuff down to the garage. Our children are in their 40s. These toys were from when they were around 10. And other stuff.

I guess when I cleaned stuff out and the kids moved away my wife thought it would be a good idea to pack stuff up there in case they wanted it when they had their own houses.

They are smarter. They don’t have storage!

There are lessons:

Sometimes our memories skip generations. Sometimes our memories are not good at all. Police and trial attorneys all know that that the least reliable testimonies are eyewitness ones. We don’t remember.

Sometimes we remember reading something. But maybe the source was different from our memory. Sometimes we leave out important words.

Take notes. Better is to write things. Then refer to the writing from time to time to refresh our poor memory. The palest ink is better than the best memory.

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