I still find it amazing that one can evoke memory of anything simply by hearing the music. I used to think it was in reading the written word but I have all of those that I ever wrote for memory and although all the pictures are long gone I can still see it like it is in front of me the things I wrote but nothing calls up memories like the music. There is a close runner up -- the smells of youth. They are mostly gone these days but every now and again I meet someone who can take me all the way back. It's not an easy journey I think but perhaps mine is easier than most. I pack the memories by where I lived by and large. Everything but family changed every year or two. Memory pins the location to the date. Music does it too. A few pirated movies sometimes serve as an aide memoire.
All of my family remembers much better than me. I suppose it depends on what you chose to remember and put by. Me? I write it down. I can still see most of the pictures I left for Chaplain Harvey as clear as day even though I gave them away 10 years ago. I dare say, I can see all of them because I winnowed through them over the years as I moved. They started in 1984 when I told the USN Exchange in Rota I didn't give a rat's ass about their SOFA crap, I was buying an Olympus=OMF camera and screw their rules. I was on my way to MIDEASTFOR for a year and didn't really care about their BS rules. They relented and saw it my way.
Watching the real McCoy of video right now. The Dragon has landed and the astronauts are talking into the mike, sans mask. Sans peur et sans reproche.
I may be in trouble. I feel nothing but contempt for BLM. Every single aspect of it and SJW wokeness is contemptible. I could eat a handful of the dictionary and puke a better philosophy.