Museums as Memory Palaces

January 2025 Newsletter

Museums as Memory Palaces

Standing outside our house in La Cañada, California one night, we stood with a few of our precious possessions (I had my parakeet in a small cage) and watched as the sky filled with flames, sending red, hot ashes down over our heads.The air was hot, filled with the sounds of sirens and firetrucks rumbling through our neighborhood. Even during the 1950s, forest fires were a way of life, igniting a cycle of burnt landscapes and green, beautiful trees and flowers. I remember the hibiscus blooms, coupled with an ever present bee-seeking nectar.

I have other memories of California, many from the years we spent as a family in the High Sierras, especially Yosemite Valley. During the ‘60s, my mother would drag us (it took dragging since we really wanted to go to Disneyland) to the Sierra Nevada mountains where we would visit Yosemite National Park. Over the years, we’d hike the John Muir trail, spend lazy summers along the Merced River, feel the mist off Bridleveil Falls, and listen for the yell during sunset when the campfire embers atop the valley would spill down towards the valley floor. We ended up loving Yosemite.

Even before our family fell in love with Yosemite, my mom spent time, sunny days on the Merced River that runs through the Valley: