Sense Memory
It is a curious thing to spend ones adult life in the same place as ones childhood. Sights, scents, and sounds entirely common place trigger thoughts from the deepest recesses of the mind. As I drove home yesterday, and again this morning walking to the bus stop, I had such an experience.
I took the car to work yesterday. On the way home, I took a different route (bad move; it took over an hour; but that's another post). As I sat in traffic I caught a glimpse of a home backing the road. A sliding glass door showed a dark family room; the overcast evening light wasn't sufficient to light the room. It called to mind fall afternoons at the BBHOL, coming home to an empty house and seeing everything still and quiet before I turned the lights on.
This morning on the way to the bus stop drizzling rain fell. Pacific Northwesterners would mock me, and she does, but I pulled out my umbrella attempting to keep my glasses dry. As I walked the four or five blocks to meet the bus, I recalled a picture of me, my younger sister, and my younger brother. It was the first day of school and the sky was overcast and gray. Each is wearing a backpack and I wore a white sweat shirt. Drizzling rain fell on us, but we didn't have umbrellas.
It is nice to have fall here. Cool days and chilly nights, warm apple cider and roasted apples. And making new memories on Clara's first Halloween.
Labels: commuting
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I think you have always had the deepest sense of "home." I always knew that if you were the first one home, it would look welcoming and inviting. The lights would be on and the shades would be as they ought. Warm, loving memories. Thanks so much. Mom
so your comments spark many tangents
are you too young to wax nostalgic - I think not but yielding to a grounding many don't ever experience I wonder how critical is sense of place or how expanded the definition Make where you are Zion in lieu of migration redefines the nature of a home place
or what is SJ's sense of place as this period of time is looking back with her parents and foward with her grandkids but much less anchored in a place or even aplace of self
or how goofed up is coomuting to Illinois
place - home - so much more epheral than times past
I was recounting this post to Dad and Grandma and Grandpa today (11-12-07). Dad goes: I can't believe he remembers what he wore. I go: if those three were heading off to school together, he had to be in 5th or 6th grade. I never would dare challenge your memory. Mom
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