I like to think of memory as a house, a large red Victorian Painted Lady, with separate rooms for clusters of related memory or for specific memories. The sitting room with the three large bay windows is the room of childhood. Up the stairs and to the left in the small closet of a room, is my first marriage and divorce. Almost all of my happiest memories are free to wander the house, but they really like to hang out in the kitchen. In the small locked room under the stairs in the dank basement is where all the unspeakables sit on their wobbly chairs. Maybe it's time to let them air out and turn transparent in the sunshine.
What does your memory house look like? And in which rooms do your memories reside?