When I was small, I lived:
In a ray of sunlight. My dad worked second shift. He would lay on the olive green couch and hold me on his chest, and teach me to sing "Row, Row Row Your Boat." I felt his chest rise and fall with each breath.
On my mother's lap in a brown rocking chair. She sang and read aloud to me.
I lived
On an acre of lush green grass that turned cold and brown, then deep, soft, crisp and white. In the indigo sky were stars, a bright moon, and the fading clouds of warm exhales.
I lived
In a snowsuit and bread bags over socks stuffed into snowmobile boots with a metal zipper, in wet mittens and handmade crocheted hats.
With brothers who played the best survival games.
I lived
At a little school where everyone cared about me, except a few girls and boys who didn't understand my shy feelings of smallness, or my love of teachers.
Under a Cottonwood tree on a green woolen army blanket with a fat paperback copy of something good, like Emily of New Moon by Lucy Maude.
With a fluffy cat who purred.
And a little green lizard that roamed free and ate enormous crickets whole, leaving him paralyzed by gluttony.
On a tire swing which spun me dizzy.
In a vegetable garden with round, red tomatoes and fat ears of sweet corn. Green beans, beets, cucumbers, cantaloupe, carrots, onions, radishes, baby red potatoes, strawberries, apples, peaches, rows of good things to keep weeded, to pick, to wash, to eat with salt, to can and freeze. Food for neighbors, family, for my father who was a hungry child, and my mother who prepared most everything with a clean table cloth and beautiful dishes, with flowers or candles or a cake.
I lived
On weekend nights while grandparents visited, playing cards, laughing, eating bowls of unsalted potato chips and drinking glasses of beer.
Holiday parties with uncles, aunts, cousins, neighbors, friends.
Crowded household, laughter, games.
Silent Sundays, when everyone slept, even the dog. I was awake, lonely, bored.
School days and books and summer vacations in a cabin up north on a river, learning to water ski, roast marshmallows, catch fireflies.
I lived
Living memories.
I love it...well done. :)
ReplyDeleteThank you Carla!
DeleteI lived in my back yard pretending I was Heidi, eating grilled cheese sandwiches off a foot stool and drinking my milk from a bowl. I lived pretending I was a horse galloping and neighing wildly. I lived making forts with my brothers out of a camouflage parachute my dad somehow got hold of, and playing circus by learning how to walk on a barrel backwards and forwards. I lived in a sand box making my dog sand cakes topped with dog food. He loved them. I lived going to my grandma's on Sundays and spending the day with aunts, uncles, cousins, and great aunts and uncles. I lived wishing I had 8 sisters like my grandma did. But as I got older, 3 brothers was a good thing too. Families are knit together with lots of memories.
ReplyDeleteI love it Karen! Your memories make me want to be a kid again so I can come over and play. I love the last line of your comment.
DeleteIt's difficult to understand the profound significance of it when you're in the moment of living childhood. I thought it would always be that way. I guess it makes me very idealistic now. Sometimes my current reality and contact with society is more challenging because I'm not in the middle of that family cocoon, or in the little town where everyone knew everyone.
Stunningly beautiful and alive with your memories! Love this!
ReplyDeleteHugs~
Thank you Sush, I'm glad you loved it!
DeleteSounds like you had a very nice childhood Jenny. It's good to remember the good old times every once in a while!
ReplyDeleteDuncan In Kuantan
Duncan, parts of my childhood were so good that I appreciate them more now than I did when I was living them. There were other sad parts and challenging parts, but those memories are important too. They are good to remember on occasions when I feel called to have compassion for someone's pain.
DeleteThis is so utterly lovely that my breath caught in my mouth. How I enjoyed reading it! You are so talented, Jenny, and poetry is a true strong suit for you. You need to enter this in a poetry competition, my friend. It is filled with power, grace, and great love.
ReplyDeleteShelly, thank you! It's unexpected and surprising to discover a love of verse at this point in my life. I walk with lighter steps throughout my day thinking of the lines of some poem I've read in the morning. Like a vitamin shot to the soul. I used to dread all the poetry in my academic journey...I thought it was all dark and sad and it completely depressed me. It was like walking into an art museum where all the paintings were full of battle scenes and loss. At the time I didn't know that it was okay to allow myself to search for the bright happy images I suspected someone must have written.
DeleteI'm inspired to keep searching. And to participate, and to contribute.
Maybe I will look for a contest somewhere...you never know!
Jenny, this was just beautiful! All the details... when you write like this it's poetry in prose, and it is so FULL :)
ReplyDeleteThank you Corinne! It was so easy, it just fell out of me last night. It doesn't always happen that way...memories and happiness, and the tapping of the keyboard so fluid, like taking a walk.
ReplyDelete