Picture it! (No, not Sicily 1972) It is about 19 degrees outside and all is quiet. The snow is still falling and won't let up for another two hours. The Sailor and I were not looking forward to shoveling the driveway and the sidewalk. I think we savored our pot roast dinner longer than we usually do, just to avoid the last chore before bedtime for the girls.
I don't know who thought it first, or how we even got on the topic! After dinner, I was suddenly inspired to look for all the girls snow gear. It turns out that we didn't have any for the Pixy, since she had outgrown the clothes she had. (I will not mention that there was no snow last year AFTER I had bought all the necessary gear...thank ya very much Mother Nature!) Banshee though, was golden! All of Pixy's old stuff fit her. I gathered everything up, improvised a little, and shepherded everyone into the living room and started dressing everyone up to go outside. Well, not the wolves but you know what I mean.
I could tell that the Sailor was happy that he wouldn't be alone outside and he quickly got dressed. The cold seeped in through the doorframe, and the girls shivered on the landing. "Let's do it!", I said. "Who will fall first?", the Sailor asked the still night and we shared a chuckle. The boys, my two pups, were excited to go out too. Who would be the first to cave in and ask to go in for the night?
It was actually pretty cool to see the girls hesitate, as if the serene street shouldn't be disturbed. They stood and listened to the "sounds of Nature", a skill I feel is very important because if you can't recognize what Nature is telling you, then you might find yourself in a serious problem. Both of the girls swore they heard the snowflakes landing on the ground, and I agreed as I started skipping over the pristine white snow covered on the yard. I heard little squeals of happiness behind me, as they both struggled to catch up. My big white GSD, lovingly called "The Big Bad Wolf", complained a bit as the girls got a little too far from him. "Oh, it's all right! You can go grab them in a second", I said. My other pup, was just scouting the yard for trails of things to hunt. It was pretty cool!
"Mama, this is the most fun ever!", Pixy shouted. So much for keeping playtime quiet! The girls quickly got bolder and went exploring around the yard, because "it is so different at night!". I went to help the Sailor out by clearing off the truck of snow, as I hummed "who's afraid of the big bad wolf?". As I moved to the truck, I took a quick look around at the undisturbed snow. It looked like someone had dropped golden glitter on the ground. It was really beautiful and..noisy? The Sailor started attacking the girls by shoveling snow on their feet and the dogs were happily barking. He laughed and said: "Watch out! Memories being made!".
I thought about this, as I cleared off the snow off the cars and kept an eye on the adventurous spawn and the boys trying their best to keep them close to the house. We all access childhood memories, but can we access the small details? The sounds, the tastes, the feel of it all, seem to get lost somehow. I found myself trying to access any memory from my youth and see how many details I remembered. Immediately, I remembered one! As if by magic, I was transported to a warm afternoon in sunny Puerto Rico, which was ok with me! It was 19 degrees, remember?
Maybe it was the cold but I remembered the cold tiles on the porch of my grandmother's house in Guayanilla. The memories all started flooding back, building a scene whose small details I thought lost forever. Growing up does that sometimes, you know! Anyway, I remembered the feel of the cement pathway on my feet as I made my way through the backyard to my grandfather's work space. As I kept thinking about this space, I remembered the feel of dog fur between my fingers. It was the family dog, a big German shepherd, who I thought was my personal horse and best friend(probably where my obsession with these wolfy dogs began). I also remembered the feel of fresh sawdust on my fingers and the sharpness of fresh cut woodchips on the bottoms of my feet. You see, my grandpa was an amazing hobby carpenter and his work space was my playground. I shifted noiselessly in my snow boots, as if they were somehow slowing this process down.
The small details did not stop coming, though. I remembered the sound of my grandmother washing dishes and running the water. I remembered the feel of the heat of the kitchen, as the stove was on. But most importantly, I remembered the feel of sitting on the old wooden swing beneath me as I sat with my grandfather, whistling at the Coqui in the bushes, listening for an answer back. I was awoken from that memory, as the girls hit my face with a snowball. I giggled and chased after them, but stopped in my tracks when the Sailor said, " Do you smell freshly cut wood?". Huh. That's interesting!
It felt nice to remember that and I wondered if I was doing the same for my girls. Would this night, through the details, become so ingrained in their memory that they could access it this fully later on in their life? I could only hope so. They seemed to be enjoying it. I mean, it was almost as if we were all alone in a little world of our making. Our noise didn't draw anyone out to peek out their windows, nor were there many cars out. The night was ours and I wasn't going to waste it reminiscing.
We quickly finished the shoveling, cleaning off the truck, and went off to play with the girls. They were pretending to be pixies in the garden and the dogs were their guardians. The Sailor turned into the werewolf that howled at the moon, and apparently, I was the deer that was going to get eaten. The dogs, both white in color, got in on the hunting and brought me down very quickly. It was a fun romp. A LOUD one too! Just like that, the fun was over and we entered the house as one.
"That was really fun, Mama. Thank you," said the Pixy. " I loved it. We play in the nighttime," said the Banshee. As I looked at them, I couldn't help but think about accessing those details for the future. I tried to remember every single moment, as I patted my back for being the coolest Mom on the block. I wanted them to be able to recreate this memory of all of us being crazy enough to go play in 19 degree weather. At night. I wanted them to be able to access all the details so fully, that someone near them would ask, "Do you feel a cold spot?".
As I sit here typing this out, all warmed up, the house is now as quiet as the night was when we invaded it earlier. The girls and the boys are sleeping, the Sailor is working on his music, and the house is making the night sounds houses make when they are resting. Through the windows, moonlight hits the now disturbed snow, and though I would agree with the Sailor that our house cannot be mistaken for a house with no children or animals, all I see/feel/hear are memories . Let's hope that when the time comes, the girls can access them.
As far as my memory, as easily as I remembered it all, it has now been tucked away to access later. For when I really need to feel the warmth of a regular sunny afternoon in my grandparents' house in Puerto Rico.
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