Randrops on Kittens

(That’s not hot the song goes, but it’d be funnier that way).

Someone was talking about favorite childhood memories.   Been having some “life stuff” going on that’s been drudging up the bad stuff too. I don’t have many, and they’re not really events–just things.

The smell of my grandfather’s truck, sitting under the tree in his yard, looking at the sky between the leaves.  My grandfather making elbow macaroni with meatsauce.  Going to “the big library” in town, the voices traveling up the vent at my other grandparents’house… sitting on the toilet seat with the lid down, with my ear to the vent, eaves dropping on their grownup conversations.  Sun tea, the smell of the sidewalk after the rain, the sound of water gushing through a hose and summer parties, with people sitting in my grandfather’s opened  garage, holding beer and soda.  The clink of poolballs, murky green Coke bottles, rereading Batman comic books over and over… the sound of box fans in the summer and the crunchy feel of fried grass beneath my feet.

Laying awake in my grandmother’s spare room, staring at the shadows made by the nightlight that was more for her benefit than mine.  Animal crackers, plastic watches, play doh.  Being caught up in a book for hours.  The smell of the air just before it snowed. My grandmother’s christmas tree, Thanksgiving day parade, believing santa was real, getting GOOD candy on easter, red popcicles, ring pops and freedom to wander a reasonable distance from home, back before the world was a crazy place.  Hanging from the jungle gym for hours on end, lost deep in the thoughts of a seven year old or hiding from the world in a place where it couldn’t find me.

ahhh…:::nostalgia:::