Remember

Remember what you learned in kindergarten:
* Share everything.
* Play fair.
* Don't hit people.
* Put things back where you found them.
* Clean up your own mess.
* Don't take things that aren't yours.
* Say you're sorry when you hurt somebody.
* Wash your hands before you eat.
* Flush.
* Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you.
* Live a balanced life – learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work every day some.
* Take a nap every afternoon.
* When you go out in the world, watch out for traffic, hold hands and stick together.
* Be aware of wonder. Remember the little seed in the Styrofoam cup: the roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that.
* Goldfish and hamsters and white mice and even the little seed in the Styrofoam cup – they all die. So do we.
* And then remember the Dick-and-Jane books and the first word you learned – the biggest word of all – LOOK.

»Remembering« and »living in the past« are two different things. One is learning from mistakes and the other is dwelling on them.

Looking back, as I was saying, into the blank of my infancy, the first objects I can remember as standing out by themselves from a confusion of things, are my mother and Peggotty. What else do I remember? Let me see.

There comes out of the cloud, our house – not new to me, but quite familiar, in its earliest remembrance. On the ground-floor is Peggotty's kitchen, opening into a back yard; with a pigeon-house on a pole, in the centre, without any pigeons in it; a great dog- kennel in a corner, without any dog; and a quantity of fowls that look terribly tall to me, walking about, in a menacing and ferocious manner. There is one cock who gets upon a post to crow, and seems to take particular notice of me as I look at him through the kitchen window, who makes me shiver, he is so fierce. Of the geese outside the side-gate who come waddling after me with their long necks stretched out when I go that way, I dream at night: as a man environed by wild beasts might dream of lions.

As green in my memory as a bush of rosemary. But I'm not going to tell you who it is that I remember.

Remember the victims of the tsunami.
There will be time to mourn.

Remember the survivors of the tsunami.
They need our help now.

Do I remember why I came here?

Of course, I do.

I wanted to see what new texts had been added.

I wanted to read some of the older ones, too.

The simplest words can lead to the oddest links.

I didn't really expect to write anything this morning. That is, until I read your question.

But will anyone reading this reply remember (if they ever even read it) what your question was, or when you asked it, or who you are?

I think, there is something strange about it.
Sometimes there are some things I am told, I cannot remember after all, even though I was close at hand. On the other hand, there are things that are so unimportant, which I remember over and over again. Or, which is worse, things that I never want to be reminded about again. I wonder if there is some logic behind it.

People will always remember the negative things you did more than the positive ones. Can anybody tell me why?