in the spaces
Lexi is sawing away at the cello; it demands more concentration than my daydreaming girl can sometimes muster.
She struggles, and looks over her shoulder for support.
I like the way she is willing to go through the trouble. It's not easy on a burgeoning perfectionist.
I've been waking up around 4 am lately, unable to fall back asleep. My hips hurt, sure, but my mind defaults to strange places in this place between sleep and Zack creeping in my room.
Flash: The swimming pool I went to as a child, handing my clothes in a hanging basket - the undies discreetly crammed in a shoe - to the man behind the counter.
Flash: The breezeway at my elementary school on election day.
Flash: A barbecue at my Grandma's house, in vivid color. (It sits vacant now, gray and dour.) The sun is hot and I am eyeing a piece of cheesecake until I am shooed away, told cream cheese is wasted on kids like me.
I lie in bed, devoid of thought, just a parade of snapshots for a bedfellow, and decide this is what it will be like to grow old, treading in days gone by.
She struggles, and looks over her shoulder for support.
I like the way she is willing to go through the trouble. It's not easy on a burgeoning perfectionist.
I've been waking up around 4 am lately, unable to fall back asleep. My hips hurt, sure, but my mind defaults to strange places in this place between sleep and Zack creeping in my room.
Flash: The swimming pool I went to as a child, handing my clothes in a hanging basket - the undies discreetly crammed in a shoe - to the man behind the counter.
Flash: The breezeway at my elementary school on election day.
Flash: A barbecue at my Grandma's house, in vivid color. (It sits vacant now, gray and dour.) The sun is hot and I am eyeing a piece of cheesecake until I am shooed away, told cream cheese is wasted on kids like me.
I lie in bed, devoid of thought, just a parade of snapshots for a bedfellow, and decide this is what it will be like to grow old, treading in days gone by.
Comments
We are reading the kids a book by Jill Tomlinson (no connection) about a baby barn owl who is afraid of the dark and talks to people he meets about it. There is an old woman who says that Dark is Kind because in the dark she is never lonely with her memories. It's a sweet book - and I think you are right.
Hope that sleep comes your way though, and that the memories are sweet ones.
And you are so worth cream cheese in my book. Come visit and I'll stock up ;-)
Have a feeling we'll see a few of them someday, between the pages of hardcover...
I've always been fascinated by the way an image or a memory just comes to mind like you've said, unbidden.
mine was a dude telling me i'd had *enough* cookies. how did he know?!
there is a 4am now? wow. who knew?!
Also tugging at my heart strings? Your girl playing the cello. I took violin lessons for eight years, played much longer, but I always, ALWAYS wanted to learn how to play the cello.
i love that.