no good night kiss

when we were little we hated going to bed.  especially me.  i don't remember being tucked in or kissed good night.  my grandpa would always tell the story of a little girl who would stand up in her bed and yell "good luck!" "good night everybody!" "good luck!" over and over.  eventually i would lay down and go to sleep.  but in the mornings when i would wake up my eyes would be all gooey and i couldn't open them.  they (i suppose my grandparents) would have to get a warm wash cloth and wipe my eyes until i could open them.  i think i was two years old.  ah, so many stories i've heard about this little girl.  my mother says that when she would come check on us before she went to bed that i would raise up right when she was leaning down to kiss my forehead.  she must have gotten a few busted lips.  the thing is i don't remember any of those times.  but what i do remember is a few years later.  i was in elementary school.  and, at night i was always afraid.  but i didn't know why.  i would lie in my bed surrounded by all my 'babies' and their blankets.  they all needed to be covered up too, right?  as i lay there, in the dark, all i could think of was that i had to sleep on my back.  i had to make sure that nothing would be able to sneak up behind me should i turn onto my side while i slept.  it took so long for sleep to take me.  to this day i am afraid of the dark.  and i don't know why.  but mike is there and i know that "he's got my back."  its very odd to me not remembering being tucked in my bed with a good night kiss.  a book was never read, a night light never left on, just knowing i lay in that bed alone and afraid.  for so long i've been so afraid.  i remember being so afraid.  that little girl lived in fear; i remember the fear. 

my imagination

when i was little, lets say early elementary,  i can remember getting in trouble and being sent to my room.  i had a little brother which meant if i was sent to my room then so was he.  this memory is after the divorce.  i can remember only 1 time when my father was in that house and he was asleep on the sofa.  after that one time that i remember i don't remember ever seeing him in that house again.  hmmm.  makes me stop and think; i never looked at it that way before.  but still.  we were little. and i would sit in the doorway of my bedroom and look down the hall straight into my brother's room.  i remember how much he played and played while we were "in trouble" and confined to our rooms.  i remember sitting there and wondering how he could PLAY.  it was like it never phased him to be sent to his room.  it didn't matter.  he just kept PLAYING.  and i would just sit there in my doorway.  i'm sure that as many cars and trucks that he had i had just as many dolls and accessories for them.  but i would just sit in my doorway.  and watch.  it wasn't until later on in my life and after i had cameron that i realized i didn't have an imagination.  i didn't know how to PLAY with cameron as he grew before my very eyes.  but somehow he did.  and there i was.  nothing.  i was a housewife and mother.  my house was immaculate but my imagination wasn't.  cameron's father was never home and when cameron was in school i was alone all day.  and most of the time cameron and i were alone until late in the evening.  so there i was in my late twenties and i had to teach myself imagination.  i look back at that little girl sitting on the hardwood floor.  in that doorway.  lost.  i don't remember what i did after we could come out of our rooms.   

this little girl

i have this picture.  its of a little girl.  she has on a pair of saddle oxfords.  its one of those pictures thats just really random.  out of place.  i think this because back then people posed for a picture.  including the kids.  people usually lined up, in stages.  big folks in the back and the smaller in the front.  and, rarely, if ever, did anyone really, and i mean really, smile.  but this little girl looked "caught."  like she wasn't suppose to be sitting there.  she's sort of hanging/sitting half on, half off a sofa with one leg dangling.  duncan-pfife i think.  and probably covered in clear plastic.  i recognize the expression immediately.  the look that seems to be always on my face.  i have bangs with a not quite shoulder length bob hair cut.  my hair is very dark.  but not black.  and my hand is raised up to my lips as if i had a secret.  little did i know from that moment in time there was a secret.  and secrets can be swept under the rug.  in my mind i can see a woman standing on the porch.  she's got a rug hung out and she's beating the dust and dirt out of it with a broom handle.  but, no matter how hard she beats that rug she knows that secret won't come out.  

a decision

i have put the cart before the horse.

this blog has had an extreme start and stop process.  a couple of years ago i realized that all around me people were talking about "blogs" and building their sites, etc.  so i jumped on the band wagon.  i'm still not very savvy with this kind of thing.  i've poked and prodded.  but i finally got the layout i could work with.  after all of that stress i took a stab at "blogging" and wrestling with just what to blog about.  i jumped around the globe (i suppose) and read what others were talking about.  what they were selling.  what their passions were.  i felt, and still do, so intimidated because i didn't have a specific thing to write about so i chose to just start talking about stuff.  then i stopped.  life was moving fast and i had other priorities.

now i'm back with a purpose.  for years i have written.  and written.  and written.  dare i say composed. 

so i have decided that i do have a passion.  what i remember.

from this point i will tell you what i remember...

what i remember

i don't remember much about my childhood.  maybe its a blessing.  i don't remember birthday parties.  but i know i had one.  my first.  i have a small black and white of me sitting on a table in a pretty little dress in front of a birthday cake.  its a sweet picture.  i remember one christmas at my mother's house.  my brother and i are sitting in front of the christmas tree.  my mother fussed at me for making a silly face while she was trying to capture our picture in our christmas pjs.  i suppose thats why i always have christmas pjs to open on christmas eve.  i won't let go of that tradition.  i remember kindergarden.  the lady that ran it was named mrs weems.  i can remember being there.  like flashes.  we were all sitting at tables.  we must have been coloring pictures.  my stomach hurt so i stood up.  i just stood there.  and the inevitable happened.  the humiliation i felt from my mother was much worse than the embarrassment i felt in front of the other children.  i remember being walked up the steps into the attached home.  her housekeeper, i suppose, had me undressed, cleaned up and in clean clothes that did not belong to me.  i remember the car ride home and the paper sack that carried the offending clothes.  another flash.  my mother has taken me to kindergarden.  it was nap time.  i remember being told if i was quiet i could go outside and play.  i must have had a doctors appt.  i remember standing at the fence.  the courtyard was actually surrounded by a wall with a fence atop the stone wall.  i was holding onto the fence crying.  i wanted her to come back.  i wasn't quiet.