.jpg){kind=small}
Assorted Memories
For some reason I'm mulling over some of my strange memories today, and decided to record them here as they come to me. There is no rhyme or reason to the memories that I'm coming up with.
1: One afternoon several years ago, while living on Texada Island, I was sitting in the grass outside my greenhouse, potting up plants. I saw movement about a foot away, and glanced over - a dung beetle had found a dead shrew (a very tiny, ferocious mouse that is able to kill creatures many times its size because it has poison in its bite). The beetle was hauling the carcass home for dinner. The shrew was huge, compared to the beetle, and very awkward indeed for the beetle to manoeuvre. The beetle had found an ingenious way to get the shrew home - pushing up against the shrew's bottom, it was able to lift that end of the body higher and higher, until the shrew tumbled head over heels, bringing it forward a few inches. Then the beetle hurried up to it, and repeated the process. It did this again and again, moving steadily forward across the lawn until finally it was out of sight.
2: When I lived in the city of Vancouver, I used to go for moonlit walks with x, through the streets of downtown where I lived. Early one morning as we headed back, we cut through a park, and decided to check on a couple of swallows who had built a nest in the eaves of the park's small restaurant. We'd seen them creating the nest a couple of weeks earlier. To my dismay, we found the nest scattered on the ground, and the birds sitting dejectedly on one of the rafters. Someone had obviously ripped the nest down. I decided to help them. I had a nest at home, that I'd found some years before at the foot of a tree, covered by old leaves. I thought I might bring the nest to these swallows, as a replacement for the one they'd lost. The following evening, I went back to the park with my nest. Sadly, the birds were gone, the ruined nest had been swept up, and netting had been erected to keep birds away from the area. Someone obviously didn't want them there at all. I left, with my nest, and tried not to think about their fate. On my way home, I stopped at a store. A woman in the checkout line saw the nest I was carrying, and demanded to know why I had it. She glared at me, and lectured me for disturbing nature- obviously I must have stolen the nest from some poor, defenseless birds, she declared. I was too shy to defend myself. I just stood there with my mouth open, letting her berate me in front of everyone.
3: In grade eight, there was a Chinese boy in my class, with a large hump on his back. He was tiny, but his personality was huge. He had a lot of friends. He had a bad habit of making wisecracks during class, interrupting the teacher. One day the teacher had enough. Barging up to the boy's desk, he shoved the desk over, spilling the boy onto the floor. Several months later, the boy was dead. I don't know if his death was related to the teacher's abuse, but nothing was said to anyone about it, as far as I know. The following year, on the first day after summer vacation, I joined my classmates for rollcall, in the classroom where the incident had occured the year before. The teacher called out the names, each in turn. For some reason, the teacher called out the hunchbacked boy's name. And to my surprise, I heard him answer from the back of the room. His voice had been distinctively high pitched. The voice I heard that day was exclusively his - it shouted out "Here!", sounding very excited and mischevious and full of life. I whirled around, but the boy wasn't there. Another boy in my class had done the same. We stared at each other in amazement and confusion. Apparently we'd heard the voice of a ghost. No one else in the class seemed to have heard it. The teacher realised his mistake, and blushing slightly, carried on with the rollcall.
4: When I lived with x, I used to get the strangest sensation nearly every time I lay under the bedcovers, trying to sleep. I would get the sense that I was only about two inches long, and that I was curled up on one corner of my pillow. Even though my body was stretched full length along the bed, I felt as though it wasn't there. My body seemed to have no substance, no weight. I was nothing more than a tiny mouse, curled up on my pillow. When I would try to force away this sensation, I would, instead, begin to feel as though I were floating above the bed. I felt as though I needed to grip the mattress with my fingertips to keep from floating up to the ceiling. My body felt as though it was made of air, and wasn't solid at all. I haven't experienced this since I left x.
5: When I was a child of about five, I stayed for a week or so, at the home of my relatives, with my sisters. We all slept on army cots, arranged in a row in the parlour of the century old farmhouse. Early one morning, I lay awake in my cot, listening to my sisters snoring. I watched through half closed lids, as the morning sun slipped through the lace curtains, creating patterns on the floor, turning the walls a lovely pastel. My hand hung down over the edge of the cot. After a long time, I realised that my hand was being held by a large man's hand - as though a man was laying under my cot, and holding my hand tenderly. I understood that he'd been holding my hand for some time, ever since I'd woken up. I felt no fear, actually it was very comforting. I lay there, with my eyes closed, with a wonderful sense of love and peacefullness. I felt as though the being under my bed wanted to convey to me that I was worthwhile, and worthy of affection. Finally I decided to look under my cot. When I looked, there was no one there.
6: When I left home as a teenager, I lived for a while as a squatter in the basement of an abandoned house. At dawn, nearly every morning, a man used to stand on the sidewalk outside the house, and sing. His voice rose up to join the calls of birds beginning their day. It seemed alternately lonely, and full of hope. Sometimes his voice was hushed, hardly able to penetrate even the quiet sounds of early morning. Other times it was strong and confidant, sailing over the neighbourhood, drifting down to infuse every nook and cranny with musical notes. Later that year, I moved into my first apartment downtown. It was miles from the abandoned house. Not many mornings after I'd moved in, I was awakened by the familiar sound of singing. It was the same voice. I'd never seen the man when I lived in the abandoned house, and I never saw him after I moved downtown. All I knew was his voice, but it was recogniseable as his. He came nearly every morning, waking me at dawn with his lonesome songs. Eventually he didn't come anymore.
1: One afternoon several years ago, while living on Texada Island, I was sitting in the grass outside my greenhouse, potting up plants. I saw movement about a foot away, and glanced over - a dung beetle had found a dead shrew (a very tiny, ferocious mouse that is able to kill creatures many times its size because it has poison in its bite). The beetle was hauling the carcass home for dinner. The shrew was huge, compared to the beetle, and very awkward indeed for the beetle to manoeuvre. The beetle had found an ingenious way to get the shrew home - pushing up against the shrew's bottom, it was able to lift that end of the body higher and higher, until the shrew tumbled head over heels, bringing it forward a few inches. Then the beetle hurried up to it, and repeated the process. It did this again and again, moving steadily forward across the lawn until finally it was out of sight.
2: When I lived in the city of Vancouver, I used to go for moonlit walks with x, through the streets of downtown where I lived. Early one morning as we headed back, we cut through a park, and decided to check on a couple of swallows who had built a nest in the eaves of the park's small restaurant. We'd seen them creating the nest a couple of weeks earlier. To my dismay, we found the nest scattered on the ground, and the birds sitting dejectedly on one of the rafters. Someone had obviously ripped the nest down. I decided to help them. I had a nest at home, that I'd found some years before at the foot of a tree, covered by old leaves. I thought I might bring the nest to these swallows, as a replacement for the one they'd lost. The following evening, I went back to the park with my nest. Sadly, the birds were gone, the ruined nest had been swept up, and netting had been erected to keep birds away from the area. Someone obviously didn't want them there at all. I left, with my nest, and tried not to think about their fate. On my way home, I stopped at a store. A woman in the checkout line saw the nest I was carrying, and demanded to know why I had it. She glared at me, and lectured me for disturbing nature- obviously I must have stolen the nest from some poor, defenseless birds, she declared. I was too shy to defend myself. I just stood there with my mouth open, letting her berate me in front of everyone.
3: In grade eight, there was a Chinese boy in my class, with a large hump on his back. He was tiny, but his personality was huge. He had a lot of friends. He had a bad habit of making wisecracks during class, interrupting the teacher. One day the teacher had enough. Barging up to the boy's desk, he shoved the desk over, spilling the boy onto the floor. Several months later, the boy was dead. I don't know if his death was related to the teacher's abuse, but nothing was said to anyone about it, as far as I know. The following year, on the first day after summer vacation, I joined my classmates for rollcall, in the classroom where the incident had occured the year before. The teacher called out the names, each in turn. For some reason, the teacher called out the hunchbacked boy's name. And to my surprise, I heard him answer from the back of the room. His voice had been distinctively high pitched. The voice I heard that day was exclusively his - it shouted out "Here!", sounding very excited and mischevious and full of life. I whirled around, but the boy wasn't there. Another boy in my class had done the same. We stared at each other in amazement and confusion. Apparently we'd heard the voice of a ghost. No one else in the class seemed to have heard it. The teacher realised his mistake, and blushing slightly, carried on with the rollcall.
4: When I lived with x, I used to get the strangest sensation nearly every time I lay under the bedcovers, trying to sleep. I would get the sense that I was only about two inches long, and that I was curled up on one corner of my pillow. Even though my body was stretched full length along the bed, I felt as though it wasn't there. My body seemed to have no substance, no weight. I was nothing more than a tiny mouse, curled up on my pillow. When I would try to force away this sensation, I would, instead, begin to feel as though I were floating above the bed. I felt as though I needed to grip the mattress with my fingertips to keep from floating up to the ceiling. My body felt as though it was made of air, and wasn't solid at all. I haven't experienced this since I left x.
5: When I was a child of about five, I stayed for a week or so, at the home of my relatives, with my sisters. We all slept on army cots, arranged in a row in the parlour of the century old farmhouse. Early one morning, I lay awake in my cot, listening to my sisters snoring. I watched through half closed lids, as the morning sun slipped through the lace curtains, creating patterns on the floor, turning the walls a lovely pastel. My hand hung down over the edge of the cot. After a long time, I realised that my hand was being held by a large man's hand - as though a man was laying under my cot, and holding my hand tenderly. I understood that he'd been holding my hand for some time, ever since I'd woken up. I felt no fear, actually it was very comforting. I lay there, with my eyes closed, with a wonderful sense of love and peacefullness. I felt as though the being under my bed wanted to convey to me that I was worthwhile, and worthy of affection. Finally I decided to look under my cot. When I looked, there was no one there.
6: When I left home as a teenager, I lived for a while as a squatter in the basement of an abandoned house. At dawn, nearly every morning, a man used to stand on the sidewalk outside the house, and sing. His voice rose up to join the calls of birds beginning their day. It seemed alternately lonely, and full of hope. Sometimes his voice was hushed, hardly able to penetrate even the quiet sounds of early morning. Other times it was strong and confidant, sailing over the neighbourhood, drifting down to infuse every nook and cranny with musical notes. Later that year, I moved into my first apartment downtown. It was miles from the abandoned house. Not many mornings after I'd moved in, I was awakened by the familiar sound of singing. It was the same voice. I'd never seen the man when I lived in the abandoned house, and I never saw him after I moved downtown. All I knew was his voice, but it was recogniseable as his. He came nearly every morning, waking me at dawn with his lonesome songs. Eventually he didn't come anymore.
posted by Marian (Jolene) | 2:35 p.m.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home