It was a hot – and delightful – weekend. It was a hot Monday morning. It looks to be a hot week, all week long.

One possible consequence of my TBI is my poor memory. I wrote rather a lot about my experience with memory, just now… and read it…and suddenly found myself rather distressingly aware of how vulnerable I sometimes make myself because of another consequence of my TBI… ‘disinhibition’. (Sometimes referred to as ‘over-sharing’, by people who would rather I didn’t. lol.) I am learning a lot about ‘taking care of me’ – and one of the things I am learning to do is make more appropriate decisions about what I do/don’t disclose, and how, and to whom, and in what detail…so, instead of a lot of words about memory, and how my memory is impaired, and what it means to me in every day life…fewer words, less over-share, hopefully still managing worthy content.

I have memory on my mind this morning… because the morning started hot, and humid, like summer mornings of my childhood.  I walked in to work with my head flooded with recollections of … stuff.  The feel of the heat, the humidity, the summer sunshine finding its way into my eyes in spite of sunglasses, the smells of summer, the sounds… all of it combined to do whatever it is that causes ‘memories’ to be spontaneously evoked.  It is a very strange thing. Experience tells me that some of these unbidden memories may remain with me, if they drift undisturbed through my thoughts; examined, enjoyed, noticed… if I ‘hear them’.

Summer heat. Summer sunshine. Summer memories. Summer love… summer sorrow.

Summer sunshine, and in the distance thunder clouds on the horizon, invisible to the camera's eye.

Summer sunshine, and in the distance thunder clouds on the horizon, invisible to the camera’s eye.

Watering the summer garden brings me face to face with new flowers.

Watering the summer garden brings me face to face with new flowers.

Other flowers aren't new, but still lovely in the heat of morning.

Other flowers aren’t new, but still lovely in the heat of morning.

Yellows and purples defy criticism.

Yellows and purples defy criticism.

The hydrangea finally starts to bloom.

The hydrangea finally starts to bloom.

My spring garden has become my summer garden, in a few days of hot weather and blazing sunshine. I spent the weekend caring for roses, watering, potting seedlings, and attending to matters of the heart and spirit. I have moments when I feel so… whole. I am hesitant to look too closely, or to question it… it feels new… and a little delicate.  I’d like to put my feet up, in the garden, with an iced coffee and a leisurely morning ahead of me to consider it all… including these bits and pieces of memories and moments that drifted through my thoughts this morning. How much time is enough time to spend in the company of bees and butterflies on a summer day, and for how long will I remember it? Is reclaiming my memories a matter of happenstance, or of duplicating key background stimuli?

For now I am content to be, and to remember.