Day 40
Heaven and hell:
Our subconscious.
-Deng Ming-Dao
What I remember...
My father dropping me of f at nursery school on his way to work and my mother picking me up after work.
When I asked my father way my last name was different from his, he told me to just tell people that he was my step-father.
When I was a little girl I had a dog named "Freckles". Since I was an only child and there were no children near me to play with, he was my very good friend. One night there was a lightening storm and Freckles, who was chained to a Weeping Willow tree, got electrocuted. The next day my parents told me that he ran away to be with his girlfriend. I was very sad because my friend left me. I thought maybe it was my fault he left or maybe I wasn't fun enough. It was many years later that I was told the truth.
When I was a little girl (after Freckles died) another little girl moved in dow the street from us. Her name was Jeanine. After we'd become very good friends she had to move.I never heard from her again. I didn't have a really good friend for many years afterwards.
Visiting a man named "Indian Joe" with my father. "Indian Joe" lived in a undeveloped stretch of woodlands along the Maurice River. His dwelling was a 1950's style travel trailer with faded red & while paint and located at the end of a gravel road.
Playing in the woods with my friends and building forts. Sleighing down a hill that we thought was huge, but when I go back there it is a very small hill and it makes me laugh to think that my impression was ever otherwise.
Swimming in river during family picnics when my father still had a boat docked at the edge of town. My mother's baked beans. Being happy with my cousins playing on hot summer days.
My grandmother sitting in her rocking chair at a window so that when I waled to school in the morinings I could wave to her.
Waving goodbye to my mother from the living room window all the way down the street until she turned the corner and I couldn't see her anymore as she drove for work.
My mother being at every softball game, field hockey game, school concert and play. My father watched my games from the distance in his truck and to be later to be told all of my faults.
My father committing suicide. My mother dying from the cancer treatment.
Visiting a man named "Indian Joe" with my father. "Indian Joe" lived in a undeveloped stretch of woodlands along the Maurice River. His dwelling was a 1950's style travel trailer with faded red & while paint and located at the end of a gravel road.
Playing in the woods with my friends and building forts. Sleighing down a hill that we thought was huge, but when I go back there it is a very small hill and it makes me laugh to think that my impression was ever otherwise.
Swimming in river during family picnics when my father still had a boat docked at the edge of town. My mother's baked beans. Being happy with my cousins playing on hot summer days.
My grandmother sitting in her rocking chair at a window so that when I waled to school in the morinings I could wave to her.
Waving goodbye to my mother from the living room window all the way down the street until she turned the corner and I couldn't see her anymore as she drove for work.
My mother being at every softball game, field hockey game, school concert and play. My father watched my games from the distance in his truck and to be later to be told all of my faults.
My father committing suicide. My mother dying from the cancer treatment.
What I don't remember:
How sad I was when Jeanine moved, but my mother told me that I was.
When I lived with my father his children from a previous marriage called me a "bastard". They would not come to visit my father if me and my mother were at home. My mother & father never married.
Leaving my grandmother and uncles trailer to go live in my father's place.
My father ever coming to a lay or a concert that I was in as a child.
Ghosts and Phantoms of the Subcounscious...
All ghosts and phantoms of my subconscious. So many fragmented memories. Lost pieces of a puzzle intermingled with pieces of another puzzle - some aspects of the picture don't seem to fit - like a Picasso painting. There is no one left to ask. No means of clarity for blurry recollections and deformed figures.
All ghosts and phantoms of my subconscious. So many fragmented memories. Lost pieces of a puzzle intermingled with pieces of another puzzle - some aspects of the picture don't seem to fit - like a Picasso painting. There is no one left to ask. No means of clarity for blurry recollections and deformed figures.
Heaven and Hell
walk hand-in-hand,
skipping down the road
with our childhood.
Grown up,
we play hopscotch with stones,
the debris of shattered
memories and broken dreams.
--Demori
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