A Few Memories

Hello dear friend.

I hope you had a nice Labor Day weekend.  Mine was... bittersweet to say the least.

Friend, I've never truly felt like I've shared something with you that was too personal.  Nothing that I regretted writing or decided to take back after posting.  I've never really even hesitated before diving into a single letter, wondering, "Is it ok for me to write this?  Is it too much?"

For some reason, however, what I want to tell you about the most, seems too much.  It's too personal, too painful, too precious to share the details of what's going on in my heart these days. 

What I will tell you, is that I love my Grandpa Bill and Grandma Robbie.  I will tell you that Grandpa's health is currently not the best.  I will tell you I got to see them this weekend.  And that is all I will tell you right now.

 

(This was taken a few years back... Right after I graduated from TIU I think.)

What I can tell you, is that Mississippi, or more specifically, Grandma and Grandpa's house, is still one of my most favorite places in the world.  I wish I could explain the smell to you.  It's impossible though.  Please, if you get the chance, drive through Mississippi and smell the air sometime.  Maybe it's the red mud, or the humidity, but it's wonderful.

I can totally see that scent is the sense most strongly tied to memory.  When I walk into my grandparents' country home, I am instantaneously taken back to my childhood.  I remember playing with My Little Ponies in the bathtub with Katie, listening to our Sesame Street cassette tape in the cactus bedroom during nap time, sloshing around on the waterbed, reading Golden Books (specifically the one where Barbie's trying to find a missing wedding dress) in the front bedroom on the green comforter that is still there, and I remember delicious food. 

As I looked around the house this time, I noticed all the things that are still there from years and years of my memories.  Grandpa's Caterpillar hats are still on top of the dresser, the blue and yellow glazed dogs are still there, there's a trinket shadow box with some E.T. toys in it is still hanging up in the hallway, the bottle with hot peppers can still be found on the turn table next to the stove, Apache's old kennel is still in the backyard, the shelves of plants still sits behind the dining room table, and there's still that strangely shaped wooden clock about the TV, which still resides next to the large, dark brick fire place.

Now that I'm writing this, I wonder if maybe I've told you these memories before, but I don't care.  They are so precious, I like reliving them.  I felt like I was soaking them all up this weekend.

I would tell you more, friend, but you should know how I am by now...

I'll talk to you later.

Aim