A funny, moving article by David Sedaris was published in the Jan. 5, 2015 issue of The New Yorker and is worth a read.
The author describes a family reunion at his house on Emerald Isle. His brother’s diet, relationship with his father and local color including turtles are all fair game.
Memories can be fickle and for many of us holding on to the good memories can be just a little harder to do. As David Sedaris writes:
"Is it my fault that the good times fade to nothing while the bad ones burn forever bright? Memory aside, the negative just makes for a better story: the plane was delayed, an infection set in, outlaws arrived and reduced the schoolhouse to ashes. Happiness is harder to put into words. It’s also harder to source, much more mysterious than anger or sorrow, which come to me promptly, whenever I summon them, and remain long after I’ve begged them to leave."
Later on he writes:
"While I know I can’t control it, what I ultimately hope to recall about my late-in-life father is not his nagging or his toes but, rather, his fingers, and the way he snaps them when listening to jazz. He’s done it forever, signifying, much as a cat does by purring, that you may approach. That all is right with the world. “Man oh man,” he’ll say in my memory, lifting his glass and taking us all in. “Isn’t this just fan-tastic?”"
At least those good memories have been written down. Hopefully they took some photos.
