It is 8:00 on Sunday evening and I just showered after cleaning the chicken coop, then put on my favorite soft, old pajamas. Having just gone outside to see a bear across the way and fireflies all over my gardens, I now happily have nowhere to go. It seems I am going to ignore the million things I have to do because my mind is traveling down memory lane and this is a trip I am happy to take.
My parents have been in my thoughts quite often recently, even more than usual. Of course, I miss them and often wish I could sit down at their dining room table to talk with them, sometimes about important matters, but mostly about everyday life which, I suppose, might be the most important matters of all. Funny and sad that I cannot conjure up clear images of what they looked like when I was a small child, in my mind they almost always appear as they do in the photograph below. I think they were both in their 60s when this was taken. I can piece together image memories by looking at other photos of them taken during my childhood but that isn't quite the same thing, is it?
Tonight my memories are focused on the Sunday nights when home was a safe and happy place to be. When I was little enough that coming in before dark to have a bath and put my pjs on was a source of comfort and not conflict, when my mother still washed my hair in the tub and used water running from the faucet to rinse it, when she was always careful not to get soap in my eyes.
I cannot recall how it was decided who sat where in the living room, but my favorite seat was always on the couch, safe behind the little comma of my mother's legs. Sunday nights were for Wild Kingdom and The Wonderful World of Disney and even my dad watched those shows with us. This all reminds me of his love of fudge ripple ice cream and how often that was the ice cream treat for everyone in the summer.
Too many memories to spill onto a page, electronic or written, but tonight they are filling my heart with feelings of being loved, safe, and happy.
I am grateful.
No comments:
Post a Comment