There is a painting by Paul Klee called "Carpet of Memory" that is a beautiful piece of grays, tans, oranges, and violets. Everytime I see it, my eyes widen as if looking at one of those cheesy posters where the images float out of chaos if you loose focus just enough to almost pass out. I get lost in my thoughts that are often hazy, but so comfortable I never want to leave. Through my tears, I blink again, and the images become clearer. My carpet of memory is a soft, "feels like home" piece of fabric that is cool in the summer and warm in the winter. In it are stitched the precious jewels of my youth that live only in the deep pockets of my burdened heart. Looking at my memory carpet, I see Mert and Donald, egg salad, Giles and Samantha, Amber, long gravel roads, climbing under barbed wire to get to Elizabeth's house, Pete, wood paneling, Tasha, books, Matt dribbling, Rapid Roberts, a youthful Grandpa, playing with Tracy, walnuts, the Broiler Festival, raking leaves, Jenny cheering, Crane pool, coaches pitch, Adrienne, staying home from school with Mom, catch with Dad, Table Rock Lake, Ling Ling, Aurora Skating Rink, ride-rites, and hay bales...All the things and faces and places that are all my own. Then I remember how the voice of growing up called me on, and I hate that I so quickly followed.
"Growing up happens in a heartbeat. One day you're in diapers, the next day, you're gone. But the memories of childhood stay with you for the long haul...I remember a place..a town, a house like a lot of other houses, a yard like a lot of other yards on a street like a lot of other streets. And the thing is, after all of these years, I still look back... with wonder." -Kevin Arnold's narrator, from the "Wonder Years"
Thanks, Jenny, for the beautiful book of memories.
