Once a week I sing in the preschool. First I head into the room with three year olds, and pick a string of our favorites. The Great Red Dragon. A Man Had a Hundred Sheep. No Laughing in This House. We barrel through them with gusto, and I mentally keep track in order to not repeat. It might be easier if I wrote a list, but I strive to be more spontaneous than that. Plus they sometimes make requests. 

 

Then I wipe my memory clean and walk across the hall to sing with the four  year olds. They enjoy the same repertoire, and we bounce between The Walls of Jericho, The Elephant Song, and You are My Sunshine. Again I try to remember what we have already sung. There are so many enjoyable new ones, I don't want to waste time with a rerun.

 

I suppose it is like a phone. These devices take great pains to keep our contacts and settings straight, until we upgrade to a new one and the phone is wiped clear. After which it is expected to remember everything. Perfectly. 

 

There have been interactions I tend to hang on to, when life would be smoother if I could let go. The sleights, and grouchy exchanges are better left behind when we step into a fresh morning. 

 

The other day someone referred to a complaint I made two years ago. Sigh. I wish such character fails could be erased. 

 

Maybe I could do as much for the people whose perceived misdeeds I have recorded in indelible ink. There is such a rich array of pleasing interactions waiting for me.