i see...
there is so much about this photo that i love. i love the way this little girl's hand is resting on her ankle, like she has just paused to take a breath. i love the way those little legs can bend. an early yoga pose. of course, i have to love that messy face and that a person who loved her decided to capture that mess instead of insisting on clean and perfect. i love the joy on that messy face. i love those spice jars hanging. i can see them in my mind in two other kitchens and wish i had them now as they would be perfectly filled with vintage buttons and arranged by color. i love that wallpaper and can close my eyes and feel the texture of it on my fingertips and i can see those pretty hideous fabric window coverings in the breakfast nook attached to the kitchen. i love that piece of wood to the right of the girl as it is the frame of the magic pass-through window between the kitchen and the family room of this most favorite home.
i can close my eyes and see almost every nook of that most beloved childhood home of this little girl...this little girl who was me...who is me...who is a part of me. this little girl who is inside me. this little girl who whispers to me. i can see the closet under the stairs where we kept the bright-orange cushions for the furniture on the screened-in porch. i can see the black and white nubby fabric-covered couch directly across from the fireplace. i can see the stockings made by my grandmother, my father's mother, hanging. i can see the window seat built-in bench next to the fireplace and i can feel it as i lift it open to peek inside. i can see the built-in bookshelves lined with books. and i can see the one short shelf with the parenting books that i would insist i needed to read when faye, my first cabbage patch kid, arrived for christmas. i can see the all white very small living room with the tiny blue leather couch and the tableclothed round table that was really made of cardboard that i accidentally left in the basement of my last apartment in indiana. i can peek across the entryway and see the dining room with the navy blue with a peek of red wallpaper and matching curtains. i can see family around the dining room table and can look down to see a fancy red perfect for the holidays dress and black patent leather shoes with a bow. i turn and see a little boy wearing fuzzy green pajamas sitting on the stairs and going up one step at a time while facing forward and chattering away. i see the landing outside a bedroom with blue carpet and blue flowered wallpaper. i see the tall bed with the old iron bedframe and the fuschia fabric heart that hangs from the bed post. i see the wooden sign that says the little girl's name and has a slightly crooked z. i see the white shelves that hold the dolls i received every birthday and christmas. i want to rearrange them again; pairing them off by best friends or by couple or by color. i see the ice skating girl's blue velvet dress and fluffy white muff and the ice skating boy with matching clothes. i want a little girl who will arrange those dolls in her blue room. i smell the fresh pink and white flowered sheets on the bed that will one day keep traveler warm as i sit outside with him on a february day, on his last day, when i can't get him to come back inside and i sing to him and read to him as i wait for jonny to get home so we can take him to the vet. i see the ballerina pillowcase that i still use because it takes me back to this room, this most favorite of rooms. i see a hope chest that i am not really supposed to open but that i sometimes peek inside just for a moment as i want to always be good but also want to always know. i never touch anything. i just want to peek. i close my eyes and i can see the other rooms. i see the little tiny sewing room with the funny closet that had stairs. i see the little boy's room filled with toys. i see the guest room with the wallpaper that had hidden animals i would see when i had pnemonia and stayed in that room so my parents could hear me in the middle of the night. i see the door to the attic that housed a little girl's perfect playroom. and i hear the voices. the voices of a young family learning together and doing the best that they can. i hear those voices and the sounds of a home. i hear my grandparent's car pull into the driveway and i see myself run to open the garage door and then jump the steps down to the garage floor and duck under the door as it opens so that i can be the first to hug her. i see the sandbox and the rhodedendrins in bloom and the bird feeders and the three fir trees and the small bit of woods and i wish, i wish in this moment, i wish i could be there, right there, back inside that home...hearing those voices...and feeling my heart burst with love.
remembering in write, write, write
Reader Comments (5)
thank you for sharing this beautiful photo of you, these beautiful expressive words of memory ... hugs
I wish my memories of growing up were so clear. Unless I have pictures to remind me or have heard the stories many times, I don't have many memories (especially as young as you are in the photo). Thank you for sharing about this time in your life through each of the senses.
your words are very comforting tonight... as i sit here, looking at my parent's walls of photos from so long ago... pictures from a different time, a different place, with many different people... some are still here, but so many have gone...where did they go? and who is that silly little 3 year old girl on her beloved ollie, a pair of underwear on her head, no shirt...but the biggest smile, i can almost hear the sweet laughter.
ahhhhhhh...
you were so cute!!!!
and in that respect,
you haven't changed...
heehee
still cute as a button.
and i love this way
of sharing in your memory...
Ohmygod....this brought tears to my eyes and is the most beautiful recollection I have ever read. Wow....I hope someday my little girls feel this way about their childhood home. Boy, do I wish....You are remarkable and what an absolutely adorable little girl you were and "are". :)
xo
Melissa