42

I should do a countdown. DC Comics had this series called 52 in which the episodes unfolded from 52 downwards, and it was a nifty gag, but not one that helped very much in cataloguing. If I were to do a countdown, it would take 42 days. And by that time, I'd be far too busy to do a good job.

Of course, by that time, I'd be in the realm of vague guesswork. The earliest memories I have are of playpen days in 1968. That means I can sort of remember 40 years of history or so, but not as far back as the Kennedy assassination. I can remember Vietnam, and SALT, and the deployment of the Lockheed SR-71 Blackbird. I can remember when disco began. I can remember the Jackson Five and how cute MJ's nose used to be before he filed it off.

I can remember lots of things, and I am thankful for most of them. In the next few weeks, I'll be digging up (literally) the old stuff spanning my late adolescence and early adulthood. Those things need to be cleared; they're occupying space that Dad needs for retirement. I guess that the people I used to receive letters from are long gone, long forgotten, still so close that I don't need all those letters... I don't know. I have physical artifacts in writing from people who meant a lot to me. Some still do.

What do I do with those?

It strikes me that looking into the past makes you think of the futures that might have been, and maybe it helps you accept the future that was, and is now the present.