My memories, Their Memories

The anticipation of Thursday nights when I was a little girl were huge, Thursdays nights were the Friday and Saturday night of the week for me, the long awaited night when the normal schedule was diverted and we filled it with special. During the fall and winter we would have fried chicken at my grandparents house, filled with amazing food and grandparents that treated us like we hung the moon. They were a constant in our life...always there, always listening and hugging. Teaching us, playing with us and wanting us around.

Then there were the Thursday nights of spring and summer when my mom would fill up the ice chest, pack up the charcoal, yell for us kids to jump into our swimsuits, grab the inflatables and buckets because we were off to the lake. The 20 mintue car ride, felt like forever, 3 little bodies almost shaking with anticipation to get out, running down the rocky bank and into that refreshing water.
Moments later the grill would be smoking, the picnic table set for our Thursday night supper. I don't remember what we always had, pork chops, hamburgers, hotdogs, but I do remember, inhaling it down like a starving man, that food is etched into my memory as being the best tasting of my childhood.
Then swimming with my mom and brothers followed, bouy races, underwater diving, barge jumping, rock throwing and relaxing by the water. People would come and people would go until the sun set and we were still there trying to soak in our precious Thursday night swims.

Until today, I didn't realize that those memories were what inspired me to pack a bag of snacks or an ice chest full of food, yell for the kids to jump into their swimsuits, grab the inflatables and head to the lake on warm summer nights of spring, summer and fall. Those nights as a child with my family made us close, Thursday nights created a bond between us that we hold in our heart during sad or happy times, recalling them when we are together, laughing at funny moments that are only funny to ones who were there.

Pebble Beach, this private part of the lake that you have to live here to discover. On rare occassions there are a scattering of people, in deep summer maybe four families and most are from boats that pull up from the lake. My kids think it is ours, get very terriotorial when others litter or leave smoke rings...feeling like it is being invaded. We come here almost everynight, hiking around it, discovering something new each time, filling our bags full of treasures to take home....filling buckets with driftwood and plants with unique stones and remembering our night place.
They see this place as beautiful, despite the dead trees and trash...and the little upkeep it gets. They don't seem to notice that this place isn't paradise, just a beach that has little care deep down in the woods. Their eyes are blinded to the lack of it and they see this place where their memories are being made.

They are filling each other, bonding, making these special memories that they will laugh at in 20 years when they come together. Remembering our late night swims, the big fish we caught, rock diving, bringing Jett here when he was only days old, cold suppers and stale snacks will be remembered as delicious. They will remember fighting us to go home, wanting to stay a few more minutes even when the stars are shining brightly and we have to follow the moon home.
One day when Corey and I are sitting on this beach...just the two us, we will hear the sounds of laughter and splashing, the little bodies rolling and diving, the stories and ideas of what is beyond what we can see. We will remember the sleepy eyes that drifted to sleep under the moon, with the wind blowing in our hair. Carrying wet bodies to bed, hearing them mumble in their sleep what a great time they had and when are we going back. This will fill us, this will make us laugh and cry for what was. These are our moments, what we hold onto when time goes by to fast. when we long for what was, when we grasp to remember it all.