Ever have one of those moments when you make a mental note to yourself, “This moment; this moment right here. I’m going to remember it forever – or for as long as possible.” Memories are SO important and as a person who admittedly doesn’t have the most outstanding of memories, I find myself praying from time to time, “This one; I want to keep this one right here.” Sounds a little overdramatic and slightly depressing maybe, but memory loss strikes me as one of the worst things ever.
I grew up in a Christian household, and I remember this Bible verse that talks about storing up treasures in heaven. My friends and I would wonder what that meant exactly. What was the treasure? I know as most things related to spirituality, there are sure to be varying opinions as to what that means. I hope, though, that at least part of that treasure is a collection of memories, all of the things in our life that make us who we are, although I’m sure there are some memories we will want to forget.
I recall one such time when I made that mental note not to forget. It was what feels like a lifetime ago. It was a simple things really, but my mental note worked, and to this day it’s a very strong memory that randomly pops up every now and again.
For a short period of my life, I played ice hockey. A friend of mine took me to a minor league game once and that was all it took for me to become obsessed. It took that one game for me to decide to purchase a pair of skates and watch countless games. I practiced skating almost daily, and eventually I started playing. At the time I was also attending a local community college, but I looked young enough to pass as a high-schooler still. A guy that I met while skating one day said as much and invited me to practice with the high school team that he coached. It was an exciting opportunity, and I learned a few things to improve my amateur game. Since this was a high school team, practices needed to be very early before school. Sometimes I would get there early before any of the other players. Since I was there so often, I had made friends with some of the staff, and they would let me on the ice early.
One time I was there quite early. The ice had been freshly Zambonied (okay, I’m not sure this is actually a word, but I’m using it :), and I was the only one there. I stepped on the ice and let the familiar smell of the rink wash over me. There is no other smell in the world like it. It’s not exactly like flowers; more like the coolant they use for the ice and the compounded smell of sweaty hockey players from all the countless games. Gross, right? There’s something about that smell though that links to this memory and others like it. I love it. It must be like the smell of horse manure to equestrians.
Inhaling deeply, I pushed out on the smooth ice, the blades from my skates gripping the ice and pushing me smoothly forward. All was quiet, just the sound of my blades against the ice. I warmed up, slowly picking up speed as the industrial lights slowly warmed up too and started glowing. I went lap after lap, each go around building a happiness in my heart. When my legs started to feel the familiar burn of work, I slowed down and enjoyed a moment of slowness before I picked up the pace again. It was a total Zen moment. Taking one last deep breath, I realized that my time alone was short lived, and I made that mental note, “This one; this one right here.”
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