The family down the road from us had a trampoline when I was growing up. This was before safety nets, helmets, or supervision. The local kids spent hours bouncing with only ourselves to referee. It worked.
One game was called Add One. The first kid did a trick, like a seat bounce. The second child did the seat bounce, and added another, such as a spin. The next one added something new, like a knee drop. The line up grew until someone messed up or forgot. We were surprisingly adept at it. At least that is what I recall. I suppose the activity would have scored points as an academic memory device, but no adults were ever around to be impressed.
Benjamin takes his chocolate Advent calendar seriously. He would never cheat and eat more than one day at a time. I asked him if he remembered what each shape was.
"First day was a shoe. Second day was a bag. Third day was a cupcake. Fourth day was an angel. Fifth day was a house..." Wow. I was just making conversation but he actually knew. He would never, ever lie about such a thing. Partly because autism precludes the need to show off.
I thought about times when I commit to memory the list of wrongs that have been done to me. Grievances that happened in the past and are no longer relevant. Like chocolate that is so old it has gone white. But I know them all.
What kind of clutter are those grudges creating in my heart? What more delicious things could I hang on to instead?
Well, jokes for one. Benjamin told me a new one.
"What did Della wear?"
"What, Ben?"
"I da-ho. I'll ask-a. Maybe a New Jersey."
