frozen time and halsey and shedd and harrisburg and summer of 2002

I wrote my first two essays on freezing nearly two months ago. I know exactly what I was thinking at the time. I was thinking of those past moments in our memory that are so fixed as to be immovable. In those two essays I stressed the debilitating character of frozen moments, the way that memories imprison, constrict or otherwise send limiting messages to us. But, as I let the idea of frozen time steep in my mind for a while, I saw that I have a series of memories that actually empower, bring a smile to my face and tell me something very important about myself. However, upon further reflection on them, maybe they too are ambiguous. Here is what I mean.

Positive Frozen Memories

I sometimes wonder if the reason why I have so many frozen memories from the past relates to the waning Evangelical view of time (i.e., waning in my life) that was so much a part of my thinking at one point. As I have explained elsewhere, this "kairotic" view of time made me inclined to see each moment as fraught with potential for divine disclosure. Every minute, therefore, was precious, was filled with all the fulness of God. I tried to live that way, despite the fact that from the perspective of 30 years later (i.e., today), such a mode of living leads to extreme neurosis (because you are always wondering if you missed something from God). Thus, I think I was susceptible to lots of frozen memories. And, to add to that, I have a good memory. My good memory may be "natural," whatever that means, but it has probably been developed and sharpened because I disciplined myself to memorize the Bible beginning about age 19. Even to this day, I seem to pick up instinctively when I talk to someone if they have a precise mind, if they appreciate detailed nuances of texts.

Well, this is all prolegomena, as the Germans say. So, I have lots of frozen memories. But ever since I became divorced in 2001 and have, in fits and starts, dated again I notice that my frozen memories may not simply be experiences from my deep past. I am finding that as I connect again with women that I often have experiences that become burned so deeply into my consciousness so quickly that it is as if they are frozen. Current frozen memories. These experiences are universally positive. I somehow am able to "forget" the dates that don't work out too well. But, as I think about it further, I discover that the power and clarity of these new frozen moments also has the power to debilitate, just as the memories of my knee injury from Fall 1968. I think I need to explain myself further.

Frozen "Date" Memories

Let me start with the observation that these frozen date moments are not particularly sexual--that is they have nothing to do with conquests, orgasms or whatever word you may want to use to describe acts of physical intimacy. They have more to do with a context in which communication on several levels, and engagement of the senses, took place. I will illustrate with three different dates.

1) The Picnic

I met a woman, call her Tara, in March 2002 when I was giving a talk on the death penalty. More than one date has arisen from death penalty interests--hmm. In any case, she and I met each other shortly after the presentation, we got together to talk death penalty and one thing led to another. We decided, once June or July arrived, to spend the day with each other exploring the wonders of the Willamette Valley. So we did. We drove and stopped in little towns, looking into store windows, sitting on benches in town squares, eating ice cream, exchanging stories from the past and present in a furious flow of bottled up experiences that left us smiling, laughing, and sometimes even breathless.

As the day turned to evening, we enjoyed a picnic. Anyone who knows the early Oregon summer knows that the days are nearly endless. Streaks of blue still fill the night sky at 10:00 p.m. So, we bought a bottle of wine, put it in a basket with cheese and crackers and bread and salads and other pleasant edibles, and sought a place to have a picnic. We were driving along 99E at this point, going through little towns like Harrisburg, Halsey, Shedd. And we stopped at a place that had an open lawn. It was either a church or a church that had been converted into a municipal building. We went to the back lawn, where we were not easily seen but we could see the traffic lazily passing along the highway through the town. Under an inviting oak we spread out the blanket and had the most sensually rich and enjoyable meal that I had experienced in several years. It lasted an hour, perhaps a little more. We then packed up, and she dropped me off at my home before she returned back to her place.

A picnic, nothing else. She said she had a very good time. We were close for several months, but then gradually began to drift apart. She has met someone else now, and I am delighted for them. But, I wonder sometimes if I didn't "adapt" to our changing relationship in the next few months because I was still frozen in our picnic date. Even today, three years later, whenever I can I drive through that little town where we had the picnic I try to find the exact place where we ate. For some reason I never seem to be able to find it. This is a little disconcerting for a person with a good memory but I think that something else may be happening. I may have "mythologized" the place to such an extent, may have melded images together from lots of spots in my mind (a tree from one scene, a church from another, a public building from a third, a verdant lawn from a fourth) and put them together in one "ideal" place that actually doesn't exist. But the moment is frozen in my mind, and whenever I want I can conjure up the place, the feelings, the moment. It remains vivid for me, sometimes overpoweringly so.

I guess I need another page to tell you about the other two.

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