A visit to the Past.......

Memory is a way of holding on to the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose.

Kevin Arnold

I made a visit back to the small Western Kentucky town where I grew up to visit my family of origin yesterday. 

We drove past rolling hills, dilapidated old barns with their ancient rusted tin roofs falling in, freshly rolled hay balls, cows and thick woods, arriving to a small speck on the planet

where one flashing light at the four way intersection flashes as folks enter and exit.

While there, I danced around ancient memories, both good and bad, tasted dishes of days long past, smelled the freshness of the air where traffic doesn't flow and heard the reminiscent sound of the train blowing it's whistle as it bustled by on the tracks about dusk.

I discovered a yearning inside---to revisit an old familiar place-it called to me from the recesses of somewhere deep inside my aging bones.  It's whispers reminded me of lazy childhood days running barefoot, hair blowing in the wind and the smell of dry dirt mixed with sweat of a content child.

We drove to the old home place, where my great grandmother lived next door to my parents first home.  The house stood empty on a small tract of land in front of the railroad tracks.  It seemed tiny compared to the great space the memories of my childhood held.  A fire had caused the roof to begin to cave in and the once shiny hardwood floors were covered by a carpet and trash.  I could barely contain myself as I walked toward the front.  I crossed a bridge over a ditch and pushed my way through briars and weeds and fallen trees until I reached the front step of the porch.  It was much shorter than I remembered and as I pushed my foot up the first step, memories of warm days of sitting there flashed through my mind.  I could hear my fatma humming a church song in her nasally way and could almost hear the sound of green beans snapping where we sat during the summer evenings talking, laughing and being. 

I stood at the hearth where I used to lie to keep warm during winter evenings when mom and dad would go out to eat or to church or to visit friends.  I would lie there, huddled close and watch the coal burn, hear the crack, watch the blues and yellows mix.  The fire always fascinated me in a a mystical spiritual call.  The mirror over the hearth still showed my reflection.  I opened old closet doors, where treasures used to be hidden and I secretly hoped I'd find an old marble or button or some memento of days gone by. 

I viewed up at the stairs to the attic where I was never allowed to visit and with a mischievous smile--I felt that kid in me say--go ahead---and the adult tell me--remember the roof has caved in....

I stood in the kitchen where the smell of fatma's cakes would fill there air, the water for her instant coffee would be boiling on the old stove whistling when it warmed.  The cabinets once filled with special dishes and plates were still standing but bare.  The old sink stood strong, pipes still taped up, little wire rack where she kept her folded aluminum still attached to the bottom cabinet--I felt the urge to steal it.

I gazed out the backdoor---as far as I could go safely--out into the back yard now full of trash and overgrown and unkempt brush. 

Memories rushed so vivid I felt as if I experienced them all over again.  I felt as if her spirit graced behind me, felt her brush against my back and then it was time to go.

I stood remembering days gone by

and returned to today,

present and thankful....

thankful for a time so full of love, hope, faith and wonder,

thankful for special places in time

and

for a brief still moment in time to remember.

Happy day to all of you and blessings,