I skipped yoga on Tuesday out of sheer laziness. Awful, isn’t it. It’s not like my limbs are going to get stretched AT ALL as I sit on my ass playing Ratchet and Clank. The only endurance I’m testing is that of my eyes and their tolerance for (another) LED screen. And maybe my fast-twitch reflexes. Both are really good. Heh. I did, however, make Hula class yesterday and it felt like I more than made up for missing yoga. Heavy breathing and all….
Woke up this morning thinking about my grandparents house. They had it built in ’64 and lived there until the early ’90s. It was an amazing place for a little kid. Grandma kept me during the day while mom was working before I started school and I had free reign.
This huge front window let me look out on a cul de sac from the house that was my entire world. The china cabinet at the end of the hall where I stored hugs. The place my grandfather- who ‘kicked’ the furnace on and continually promised to ‘raise your board’ (utterly mystifying phrases to my 3,4,5 year old brain) came home to. The place that housed the buffet under which Mr. Winkle hid from me, however desperately I wished he’d come out and let me pet him. I lay there and reconstructed it in my mind, every detail I could remember. I traveled in time this morning. From my bed in 2011 back to the safe haven of my childhood in 1980.
It’s remarkable the details that can be found, the tiny memories one doesn’t even consider until those timetravel moments. Counting and stacking coins out of the lunch jar at the kitchen table. The C clamp on grandpa’s workbench. Ridiculous how neat that thing was. The massive, unending yard in the back that led to the absolute mystery of ‘woods’. The family room where ‘Ryan’s Hope’, ‘All My Children’, ‘The Price is Right’ and chocolate sundaes could perpetually be found. They were so good to me, my grandparents. Took me on vacations and spent as much time with me as possible. I miss them so.
There are days, I think, when we are reminded more strongly how tenuous our grasp on and of life really is. In just a week, there have been some pretty major changes in the lives of several people close to me. The passing of one, the jolt into reality of another, the skin of the teeth eye opener for another. History is good. It’s necessary, reminding us of where we came from and what we are capable of. It is no substitute for this moment, though. Like a talisman in my pocket, I carry those memories of my grandparents and they protect me from despair when I remember less pleasant childhood memories, but I will not lose myself in this moment to myself in the past. I can’t.
This moment is too good to miss…..