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| Monday, October 23, 2006 |
| memories |
My son crawls into bed with me at three in the morning, laying right on top of me, before I am barely awake he sputters excuses for his untimely visit. "I had scary dreams," he whimpers," my room is changed, I'm scared to go back in there." Winding my arms around him, I kiss his forehead. He feels clammy. His skin smells of the kind of sweat that only little boys produce, a little milky, musty, not entirely bad. I hug him tight, and we drift back into our own seperate dreams.
I am remembering my mother's soft flabby arms when I used to crawl into her bed at three in the morning. My father would snort loudly and offer a quick, "HUH!!" My mom reached across in the dark and patted his shoulder, "its only Kathy, go back to sleep." She would cuddle me under the blanket and tickle my face for what seemed like hours.
I remember watching my hair float up under water in the tub. There was the soft tickle of air clinging to my nose, and always a muffled pounding of knuckle on wood, a brother or sister needing to use the toilet. Time floated then, stood still, if only briefly.
There was the scent of hot tomatoes being boiled for canning. The bustle of family getting ready for Sunday school. On conference weekends, prophetic voices boomed from every medium in our home, radio, tv.. whatever. We picked weeds, cleaned house, harvested veggies for bottling. My mother taught me patiently how to snap beans, my sisters on either side of me, telling jokes.
My father would come in after surveying the garden, disappointed in the damage the jack rabbits had done to his pride and joy. I remember his irrigation system. I remember wondering how he ever came up with such an ingenious plan for watering our dinner.
We used to load our sun warmed veggies into baskets, plastic bags, boxes, we would share them with friends and neighbors.
There were the quilting frames holding tacked down cloth, almost too big for our living room. The girls sat knotting yarn through the layers, chatting or watching television. I hid underneath with my next oldest sister and our friends. We ate buttered popcorn from the air popper, tying our sisters' and mother's shoe laces together.
I remember finding my father's coat covering my entire body when I woke from a nap on the couch, not knowing who draped it over me, but revelling in the smell of Old Spice.. knowing somewhere deep inside of me that that moment would not last forever.. knowing I needed to lock it away inside my heart.
Ha ha.. then there was Paula Abdul playing in the 'ghetto blaster'. Making up dances with my friends in the long stretch of lawn next to our house. Scavaging the fields and hills surrounding our little plot of land. I brought home injured wild animals, nursed them back to life.. until one fateful time I found a nest of baby bunnies, ravaged by some kind of predator. There was one little baby left alive, its mother dead in the brush nearby. Its face was bitten, its breath coming in short gasps. I took off my shoe and wrapped it in a sock, running home as fast as I could. My mother looked at me helpless, she told me onestly that it would not live. I begged her to let me try to make it better.. she agreed. It died within hours. My first brush with death. I cried for days.
My first kiss came at ten. It was awful. The boy was Navajo, he had long hair, beautiful eyes and skin. We were under the vast night sky of southern Utah. Stars were out, a crescent moon overhead. He leant down and we eagerly slobbered all over each other's faces. He awkwardly tried to show me how, I was too nervous to learn.
Before then there were long days climbing trees, playing with snakes, watching ribbon float on the breeze. We made forts in the mud, channeling water into puddles and moats around castles of rock and dirt. We snacked on hot berries, straight off the bush, soft and tangy in our mouths.
I wake in the morning, remembering how beautiful life is. I am filled with the purpose of remembering these simple moments, how effortlessly these treasures came, how to remain in such a state.
I want to remember how to just be. |
posted by katmandusuekookachoo @ 11:44 AM  |
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