Singing My History

I have lived a short history.

Today, I stood in the kitchen making pancakes from a recipe I have memorized, and I thought about how it has come into being through many adaptations, through many kitchens. I know they existed, because this recipe exists.

I started to sing a familiar song. That, too, even more than the pancake recipe, is a continuity with my past. Even though the kitchen bears no resemblance to my past kitchens, the sun and shade, the patterns on the tile walls are all unlike my past worlds: the song is from there, and the song exists inside me and outside me, and is evidence of another world.

I have had lots of different Christmas ornaments, wall hangings, measuring cups, and all of them are gone or packed away somewhere.

Songs carry my stories.