Evenings at our house run something like this:
"Are you ready to start a movie?"
"Yes, just about."
"All right, what will it be?"
"You choose, you do that so well"
[interpret here: I really don't want to make a decision, just pick something.]
"At least name the genre."
"O.K. Something light."
"No. Musical? Comedy? Musical comedy?"
So dutifully I make my way to the cupboard and start reading titles as going along the shelf.
Tonight, when I came to Mary Poppins, Himself said "That's it. Haven't watched that in a long time. [like 20 years perhaps?]
Mary Poppins it was.
This is where the memories come in.
Years long past, the Saturday cleaning routine began with putting a musical sound track on the phono, and we five, the children and I, marched up the stairs and began our tidying tasks of the day. Mary Poppins was one of the favorites - we all knew all the lyrics, singing lustily along. Sometimes the Music Man took precedence. Which ever one of the current offerings provided, the necessary inspiration and momentum was achieved.
So that's where my mind was this night during movie time.
"Uncle Clives" says about memories that they are:
"entirely nourishing, wholesome, and enchanting if we are content to accept them for what they are, for memories. Properly bedded down in a past which we do not miserably try to conjure back, they send up exquisite growths."
There's a sort of sickness that sets in when we try to build monuments to memories. Alas, this is an easy thing to do as the years accumulate and it is something to avoid at all cost.
So I'm quite content to be 'enchanted and nourished' this night with the flowers produced by seeds of the past.
["Kick your knees up ... flap like a birdie ... round the chimney ... step in time...."]
So Dear Reader, that is tonight's spoonful of sugar.
It is offered lovingly to one and all.