Current mood: sore
sunday, march 18, 2007
You know, i've most often heard that your sense of smell, more than any of the other five, draws the most direct connections from memory. After today, i wonder if touch, specifically the feeling of pain, might not be a more apt list-topper.
over the course of today i've collected an odd assortment of bumps and bruises (stubbed toes, bruised hips, large robins-egg sized knot on the back of my head, the list goes on but is no more exciting than the sum of its parts) and i blame my ridiculous level of klutz-iness today on my pregnancy because it is easiest to do so.
But as i sat, crosslegged and dazed on the bathmat of our second floor bathroom, two mini-mes hovering anxiously, nursing a burgeoning bruise, i was snapped back to a handful of injuries i'd had as a child: Flying off the red plastic saucer sled we'd just so painstakingly waxed up - headfirst into a tree...a myriad of tumbles from standing on fencetops and bicycle seats and monkeybars... Falling from one of the upper branches of my favorite climbing tree, just behind the swingset (we had on of the metal ones with the hard plastic swing seats suspended from un-plastic-coated metal chains - i wonder if they make those any more?)
Those few glimpses were significantly more flashing-back than I'd done in a great while, and it made me miss my sister (in Germany) and my brothers (both off on vacations but due back any day) It made me miss loud households and noisy dinners revolving around ridiculous conversations. It made me miss (gasp!) sharing a bedroom and sneaking around upstairs early mornings on christmas day...polishing the silver before thanksgiving and the smell that used to linger when we'd bonfire the huge piles of leaves and sticks we'd spent a weekend raking and roast marshmallows and hotdogs. It's odd how pain can make you yearn for childhood. Not neccesarily for the inevitable comfort that was never more than an armslength away, but maybe more for the comraderie in knowing that you weren't the only one that hurt.
Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim
By David Sedaris