Posts tagged “memory

Fleeting Yet Indelible

Posted on December 26, 2013

Yesterday morning, during a break between stockings and presents, I slipped away to the bathroom to put in my contacts. The sun in the backyard reflected against the snow and lit up the bathroom with the most amazing light. The night before I’d fallen asleep on the couch; our cocker spaniel like a heating pad at my side. When I crept upstairs I didn’t even turn on the light as I brushed my teeth. My usual decluttering went undone. Surveying the counter—a medicine measuring cup alongside an Ariel bath throne, a letter F charm necklace, several tubes of toothpaste, a beloved tall, “straw-cup,” craft scissors, Rainbow Loom bands, hair ties, raised gem stickers, and thick rivulets of dried…toothpaste? Soap? Paint? Instinctively I reached for…

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Posted on September 11, 2013

Twelve years ago at this time we were just waking up. An hour from now we’d be in the car on the way to the realtor’s office off Commonwealth Avenue. We were going to sign the lease on our first place together. Twelve years ago there were no wedding rings, no babies, no company. We were just two twentysomethings, in love and ready for the next step. The sky was impossibly blue. I had just flown back from California the day before.  My plane for Seattle was leaving Logan at a little after 9am, one more trip to visit my family before my new job started. After we signed the lease we walked out of the office, the plan was for me to take…

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Posted on May 26, 2013

The thrum of raindrops on the deck kept a steady pace and the curtains fluttered from the occasional breeze. I was standing at the kitchen sink, the scent of breakfast clung to the morning air as the girls delivered sticky plate after sticky plate to the counter. The slap of their bare feet rang through the house as they scattered to their rooms. Water sizzled, as it hit the still-hot frying pan, sending up a plume of steam. I ran the sponge in circles, the soap’s lather thickening with the heat. The basin begin to fill and my vision blurred with the growing steam. I could hear the girls in the distance and I remembered a time beside another sink in a different house.…

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Pressing Moments

Posted on October 9, 2012

Days pass, the hours and minutes diabolically fluid, unconcerned by things like consistency. They sometimes stretch impossibly, then other times disappear without warning. I tell myself I should buy sparklers but when I look up, I’m late for jack-o-lanterns. We talked about Disney World, but they were too young, now we are in a sprint to beat the imminent disdain for princesses. I used to chase the traditions I thought we were supposed to have, but I’ve come to understand that they aren’t for us. Our special, our “we always used to…” is in projects and road trips, not centerpieces. Driving north the girls will exclaim, “Hey, we swam there. Remember mom?” I’ll listen as they tango with the details, “I was four and you…

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Always there

Posted on April 27, 2012

I had a scar once. It was the subtlest line of slightly raised tissue on the uppermost spot on my right thigh. I was fascinated with it as a little girl, crafting different scenarios by which I came to have it. These weren’t stories I shared with anyone, just events I explored in my mind. I had dalliances with perfectionism as a girl, worrying that this or that wasn’t just so, but this scar, this mark, it suggested having done something. I had braved something. And I loved this scar with its delicate pink and white streaks. I still have it, but it does not take center stage as it used to. Now my fingers are more likely to trace the sprays of lines…

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