Flashbacks and memories of picking weeds with my momma

Memories...misty water colored memories...of the way we were.

The older you get, the more memories you collect.

In general, I live without clutter and not much extra "stuff". 

Memories are another story. They fill to overflowing the corners of my mind. Imagine how many you have and that you've forgotten. Then, like an old friend, they sneak right back and say hello at any time and place. Sparked by a song, a smell, a laugh, a sight. An old story comes back to you like it was yesterday once more. How can a smile not appear and linger as the memory plays on the screen in your mind.

Memories of picking weeds (aka wild plants) with my mom came to me this afternoon.
The scene that jump started the film reel packed away in an old file cabinet in my cerebellum was this:
A young mother was in the weeds and picking cat'o'nine tails. Her toddler was patiently waiting in the stroller, feet swinging back and forth.  How often have I picked all sorts of weeds with my mom.... We scored a big bunch of bittersweet to make a nice homemade wreath for her garden gate just last year. 

Then, another memory reel started playing. In that Dawleyville scene, a spark from the fireplace jumped out onto a vase of cat'o'nine tails, bursting them into flame. Luckily my brother, Skee, was a quick thinker, and doused the flames with a jug of water, then escorted the crispy "weeds" right out the door.

How often did you pick weeds with your mom? If not weed picking, then something else?
I hope this memory of mine sparks a great memory for you.

Memories may be beautiful, and yet what's too painful to remember, we simply choose to forget.
So its the laughter we will remember, when we remember, the way we were.

I am a Putnamaniac since old memories are sparked by so many things!