Sense memory.

Sometimes the lighting of a particular lamp will take me back to my childhood. The way the shade creates a warm amber glow-- I'm 5 again. Sometimes it's the sound of snow, the look of shadows on the carpet, the sound of a lawn mower. I have a memory bank that is filled with sounds and sights that create comfort. I love the sound of a tent zipper. I love hearing a basketball bouncing on concrete. I love sun shining on the carpet. My childhood had its share of yuck--any child of divorce does. However, I have a lot of happiness as well. I was lucky to have amazing grandparents that created a world of love and acceptance. I have very open minded parents that didn't acknowledge small town ideas or biases. I focused a lot on what I didn't have in previous years. I struggled with some family relationships--but I think a lot of teens do. I used the wounds of youth as my excuse for not achieving, not doing and not caring. Now, I realize (as only adulthood can bring) how lucky I was. I grew up in a small town. It was safe. I had educated parents. Yes, occasionally they acted selfishly, but we all do as adults at times. I had a great first love--it came with ups and downs and heartbreak--but it was enough to sustain a lifetime of memories and good feelings. I was very lucky to have the friends from that small town--not at all like characters that are portrayed in movies--ignorant, backwoods fools.

I spent my life, it seems, trying to escape Kansas and all of the hard feelings I felt as a kid. Things aren't perfect there. I wanted to create my own little world to raise my kids in. I wanted to take all of the happy parts of childhood and get away from the constant reminders of the things that didn't turn out quite as well. I admit to trying to create something that matches what my dream-like scenario would have been as a kid. I want the streets and the houses and the town to look a certain way. I want a certain feeling. I want to create a kind of movie set for Z's childhood to take place. I want to stage memories so they are perfect-- like, my own personal Truman Show. That's impossible. But it doesn't mean I don't still try. Already--some of those memories I would have loved for her to have are ruined. I loved hearing the mower next door. I found comfort knowing Bill was mowing the yard. I knew that if I stepped out for a moment, he would smile and waive and turn off the mower to chat. He was a friendly, safe and comforting presence. He, Melissa and Paige were suppose to live next door and come over on the weekends and grill and laugh and talk with us. Z was suppose to grow up with those memories of her parents and their friends--and how kind everyone was to her. They were suppose to create a safe place for her to grow up. Now Bill is gone. When I hear a mower next door, it just makes me sad because I know it's not him. I more than hate that.

All these thoughts pour out because I saw that glow of a lampshade in a certain color in a scene of a movie. Our minds are amazing things. I might be just a little a bit more affected by things--but I'm happier for it. I'm thrilled that at 37, I can hear a lawn mower in the neighborhood and feel as happy as I did knowing it was my dad in the backyard when I was 10. It was comforting somehow. Everything was right in the universe--because the grass was being mowed. (?)