Zip Drive

I wonder where all those memories are stored in our brains. 

My mother keeps coming up with stories that neither myself or my dad have heard before.  (and they just had their 65th anniversary).  Memories from her childhood.  Memories in a forgotten language.  It's as if there is no more room for new memories and the old ones have started to float to the surface.  She is forgetting more and more of today's life and remembering more of yesterday's. 

Yesterday she started singing a song in Russian.  She grew up next to a Russian Orthodox church and said as kids they used to sit on a wall and sing along with the service going on inside.  Her native tongue was Slovak.  Her and her sisters started school not knowing any English.   I can only imagine how frustrating it would have been to be the first grade teacher then.  Most of the children only knew their parents language.  Slovak, Italian, Polish, Russian.  She had to teach them English.  And everything else a first grade teacher is supposed to teach them. 

Somehow I think if I start remembering things from my childhood, it won't be any where close to as interesting as the stories my parents tell.  I hope I can remember all their stories and pass them on.  What an amazing time they have lived in. 

Do you have a favorite story of your parents childhood?