Memory and popcorn

I've been looking around on old ideas that I have also written down in my also old agenda. Things on the excess of knowledge, about algorithms and on axiomatic theories and object orientation. All because I do not think a way to sort my ideas. I am a perfectionist. I do not like taking risks. I thirst for knowledge. Anyway, I had a dream last night that is so crazy, forced me to get out of bed. Once I realized I had finished dreaming, I took pen and paper and wrote down everything that I was able to remind myself: I needed to register the crazy dream not to lose it. It was better than the best films. And so I spent more time writing about dreaming the dream itself, and as I wrote in my old diary, she finally, after five and a half long years, sold out in its ability to record things. She Is complete from beginning to end. She begins with ecological promises and ends with a hallucinatory dream. Very well.

But my memories are not only in this agenda. Days ago, I felt curious to reread a lot of letters I have saved as souvenirs, letters written by me and my family and friends, letters exchanged between the years 1987 and 1995 and who were forgotten in a corner. I put them in chronological order and read one by one. What a surprise! I was impressed with the amount of detail you'd forgotten about how my life was, and indeed still is, rich in experiences, but remembered well, without much effort, it seems obscure and uninteresting. No, I did not have a so boring life, I now realize, because of those old letters.

Happy for my past, I now realize a good use for blogs. They now seem boring and I do not get many visitors, but in ten years will be very happy revisiting it, reading the same things that I will have written ten years ago and not remember more, and I feel grateful to have it done . The fact of receiving a visit is a mere side won.

Of course, not everything is lost forever in our weak memories. Today I had a proof. Without help of a calendar, a diary, letters or a blog, I was able to remember something that surprised me: I made a bag of popcorn in the microwave and then putting them in a plastic bowl, I added salt as usual, but the salt was next to a glass of red pepper sauce. Bingo! Remembrance rescued. Yes, I remembered that as a child and lived in the sleepy village of Tujuguaba,  in the State of São Paulo, we, citizens, used to go on Saturdays and Sundays to the church of St. Anthony, the only Catholic church of the place. A simple little church surrounded by a nice little park with  nice benches, where children played and adults walking. Next to the stairs that gave access to the garden, a popcorn vendor usually appeared. It was Pigeon, the popcorn seller, a thin and quiet man that lived near the church, and took the opportunity to earn a few bucks. There, we ate our popcorn with salt and pepper sauce, and remember now, it was good! I moved from Tujuguaba when I was 14 years old. I spent twenty years without remember in popcorn with chili, and even less in Pigeon. What is the advantage of it? I do not know, but I was happy to remind me of my childhood, popcorn with chili, and that's enough.

We can not misprise these little moments. We are what we remember who we are.