Last night before I fell asleep I "walked" through my childhood home and remembered everything in sharp detail: the rocks on the front path and the ants that would crawl there in their hills, the feel of the rough front porch carpeting, the smell of the sap leaking from the log cabin, wooly worms in the yard, the pine trees that capped each end of our property, the bookcase - even some of the books inside, the pictures that hung on the hallway wall and in which order, the original refrigerator and the newer one we bought when I was about eight, how excited my best friend and I were about using the ice machine, the exact placement of the curtains and the plants and the knick knacks and the tables
...and the order, the blessed sense of order and permanance there, and a deep sadness of not only losing my childhood and the people therein (especially grandparents and great-grandmother who are now dead) but actully feeling mourning for the OBJECTS THEMSELVES. I actually miss objects from my childhood and the feeling of things staying stable, and orderly, and not changing.
I can remember these objects - foot stools and clothes hampers and vinyl flooring and my swing set...not just the stronger memories attached to them, and there's a feeling attached to all of this.
I frequently dream about this place when I'm actually sleeping and want to go "home" but this is while I was awake.
It reminds me of the time that I was depressed and living in my apartment in WV and so I organized the silverware drawer to look like my grandmother's.