Imagination

Sipping thimbles of jammy red wine we engaged in lively chatter about the imaginary worlds and personas we inhabited as children, the make believe constructs that let us move through walls, class and time.  Revealing, hilarious and insightful about who we were, and who we would become.  At a young age, does our stored memory, accounting for  little room in our brain, leave space for oodles of exploration and creativity?  Conversely, as we age and acquire anecdotal souvenirs is it easier for the brain to trip into the past, rather than the imaginative future?  I've experienced the world beyond the curbs of my suburban yard, I've drunk champagne in high heals and fitted gowns, I've visited foreign lands. I want my imagination to be as vivid and lofty as when I was seven, and yet, be it nostalgia, appreciation or perspective I spend a lot of time reliving moments from the past.  Thankfully, I'm not quite Margaret Thatcher as portrayed in IRON LADY, but I grasp, perhaps too clearly, how the scales of the mind can tip.