Old gas station, 2nd Street, Odessa, Texas
It's been a while since I posted a picture of a door. This one I took a few days ago fills me with nostalgia. It reminds me of when I was six years old, and my family and I lived on a cotton farm in New Mexico.
I think six is a psychologically important time. There is an awakening that happens at that age. For me, it was awakening to the simultaneous wonders of being alone and of loving someone deeply. I learned at that tender age no matter how much you loved someone (like I loved my mother and father) you were inescapably separate from them. I clearly remember an attempt to tell my mother how much I loved her. I can still see the kitchen table and chairs, the yellow incandescent light shining on us, and my busy mother's puzzled face. I failed completely, only succeeded in annoying her with my childish babbling. I realize now I was trying to convey something that no one ever is able to convey: to tell someone how deep is your love for them.
At that age, I also learned to love being alone, since for playmates I had only a four year old and an infant brother who were, afterall, stinky ol' boys. One particular Fall day, I was wandering the farm, making up and singing songs to myself. The sun was warm but the breeze was too cool. I took a rusty wheelbarrow and upturned it onto its handles, creating myself a makeshift chair. I positioned myself so I was facing the sun, but the wheelbarrow blocked the cold wind behind me, making a cozy shelter. I dug into my pockets where I had pecans gathered from the yard during my walk. I sat there in my queenly wheelbarrow throne, sunning myself, cracking open and eating pecans. I was immensely content.
That's the fond memories of 42 years ago, still vivid and real, brought to my mind again by seeing this screen door. I awoke to a contradictory feeling at that age -- that being alone is pleasurable and unavoidable, and that love is painful but more intense when you realize you cannot escape the separateness from your beloved.
10 comments:
1) I cried because I almost did the same thing to Yasmine the other day, but caught myself in time
2) You absolutely have to read D.W. Winnicott, a British psychologist with brilliant themes
3) We're the same age - turned 48 in April
4) This is way much better than Proust's madeleine
Thank you for the huge compliment left on Windy's blog!
Lovely evocative writing of childhood memories, which somehow seem the most intense. I bet you were happier sitting in that wheelbarrow than many of the more comfortable and luxurious seats you have sat in since.
Your Mom knew in her heart what you wanted to say...Your knack for storytelling makes me feel like I was peeking through your window of time. It is amazing how you can remember such vivid detail at 6! Heck, I can't remeber what I did 2 hours ago.
Oh! I wish I had stopped and listened, really listened. I love you too, deeply and caringly, dear daughter but like your little self of long ago I cannot express my feelings in words.
This old door does have that look of NM doesn't it?
Such a thought provoking post and it makes me reminiscent of my own childhood and the things I thought were true when I was a little girl. In my case it wasn't trying to tell anyone how much I loved them. I was trying to tell everybody how much I loved the world and was scorned for it. I was such a sentimental and romantic kid,as I am sure you were too. We grow up to be great people, don't we?
Rima, I turned 48 in June. We're practically twins! Well, except you have two little ones running around, wow! I'll have to keep an eye out for the Winnicott fellow. Better than Proust? WOW. ha
Beverly, you are right. It was one of my all-time favorite "chairs." Complete luxury.
Neda, it's funny, I do have a good memory in some ways, but horrid in the short term. Now...what did I come in this room for?
Mom, I have no doubt you loved me and you love me. And I have been guilty of not listening too. It's funny, we have no idea what moment our kids will remember and what will completely be just another day of trying to get supper on the table to us.
Irene, we do indeed. That adorable, sensitive kid lives in us still.
Debi,
You are such a beautiful writer. It is true, 6 was a very defining year for me... it was, oh I am at school and I dont want to cry. :) Almost to late but I think I can choke back the tears. Nope, going to the restroom. :)
I love your writing, fabulous!
Ok, I am at home, so if I cry no big deal. My mom has suffered from Mental Illness my entire life and 2 years ago caught their home on fire. They lost almost everything. They lost all of our family photos and it still makes me cry. I am very thankful to the Lord for sparing my moms life and if anything were to be saved I am so very greatful it was her. See, it just makes the tears pour out... So seeing that photo of all of you with your mom, it is priceless and share it with as many people as you can. :)
Childhood (6)was also a defining moment for me and what a wonderful gift it was. Some may say that it sounds more like a sad thing, but for me it was when my life was defined to be where I am at today. I realized my mom was sick that year and that I had to be a big girl. :) THis is what made the strong person I am today (not only that moment but many others too), even through the tears.
So thank you for sharing!!
Debi, I wrote a post today and I was thinking about your tree, the door, and everything you have shown us...-
Post a Comment