Posts Tagged ‘childhood’

Random Tidbits

Posted: July 8, 2015 in journal
Tags: , , ,

“If you could not accept the past and its burden there was no future, for without one there cannot be the other.” Robert Penn Warren, All the King’s Men

Morning Sun,oil on canvas (2015), 76x60 cm (24x30)

Morning Sun,oil on canvas (2015), 76×60 cm (24×30)….

An aside to the story.

Today with now over 3 inches of unprecedented rain here in the high desert in just 2 days, my mind drifts to my mother and I found myself remembering her in a loving way in spite of all her faults.

Memories are quite tricky. There are the real memories and there are the perceptions of memories tainted by stories of other people’s memories. One would think that being a highly visual, empathic and intuitive person, my memories would shine but they don’t. Blocked out by so many unfortunate incidences, the ones I do possess are spotty tatters at best. Sometimes they are like old silent films, scratchy with a jerky camera. Other times they are vignettes of a Cecil B. D’Mille production in Technicolor.

Three, real or not, still stand today.

My mother once told me a story of when I was 2 or 3 years old. She had left me for a second to answer the telephone when suddenly she heard me screaming. It seems I had gotten into a fire ant pile and was covered in ants. Whether or not the story is true makes no real difference, what is fascinating is that to this day if there is an ant, any kind of ant, within a couple of miles of me, it will find me and bite me. It is as if my DNA merged with the ant so long ago and they have never forgotten.

There was another she told in a semi-dis-believing voice. She told me I came home from kindergarten one day, dirty and tattered as usual from being beaten up by the other kids, much to her continuing dismay. Upon her questioning as to what happened this time, it seems I looked at her and said, “ I am so very sorry, a mistake was made, this is the wrong time and I cannot fix it!” She said I frightened her and had no idea about what I could be talking. I was in my 30’s when she told me these two stories, they both made sense to me, the second just reinforced that continued feeling of perhaps I fell though a crack in time was just misplaced in the grand scheme of the universe.

Then there was the story of my invisible friend with whom I spoke when I thought I was alone, until I was 8 or 9. I guess being as there was never any other children I was allowed to play with, and my siblings would not have anything to do with me, I created my own friends. My mother said she purchased a turtle for me and that small creature solved the problem of me having someone with whom to talk.

Finally there was the time we were living together in Houston. I actually remember this! It was a Saturday and she put the dirty clothes in the basket to take to the laundry room. As usual, I carried the fabric softener, bleach and soap power.   That day for some reason I decided carrying two objects instead of three would be easier, so I mixed the soap power and bleach together in an empty coffee can. Halfway to the laundry room the can began to heat up getting hotter, so I set it down on the ground, and as I did it exploded covering me and a large area with bleach soap bubbles. My mother was several steps ahead of me and we both laughed until we cried.

Those were the only stories of me my mother had to tell where she actually smiled and laughed. There were no other good stories, just those minute fragments of joy and light.The rest were just alcohol induced, perceived illusions of me, which allowed her to escape reality of who I really was, allowing her to swim in the dark sea of her mind. It was her way of justifying the years.

Those stories were not funny at all and still make me cry. Tears and laughter seem to weigh the same and I do not feel the burden of their presence.