A nice relaxing Monday morning for me today. I do not have to be at work till 12, though it does mean I have to stay till 8, but it is 22° F outside! So I am enjoying the cats and blankets on top of me.
I could not sleep last night and so spent a lot of time trying to refresh my memory. I can remember certain snapshots of my life, but sometimes not the time period or even the why it is important. Trying to think of my earliest memory is hard, is it a true memory, or something that has been told to me over the years? I have odd pieces in my head. I remember living in Durban, and my parents planting seedlings – big gardeners both my parents – and me taking the black trays and putting them on top of the mole hills. Now i remember my dad being mad with me for this. I am not sure why, or even how old I was, I think I was about 2½ or less, I remember squashing the mole hills down. Odd. I remember the oleander bush, and repeatedly being told not to eat the flowers, and the huge bougainvillea vine over the veranda, everything was cool and dim under it.
Snapshots, almost photos of my feelings, the shock of the furry bumble bee I stood on, the desire to hug our dog – who bit my face – the elation in being able to climb the fence and then hang upside down from it, the day they tarred our road and the squishyness of the warm tar, and the fresh smell of rain upon it. The drums from the valley below, and the excitement in picking the grenadillas, and avoiding the snakes and monkeys in doing so. We had a big snake problem in Durban, the snake man would come out at least once a week to capture a snake for the snake farm, it was regular excitement for us though. The long days, and the feeling everything could happen, but slowly.
Learning to read, that is a mixture of pain and joy. I love to read, but I battled to learn. Afternoon, after Afternoon sitting on the couch with my Mom, who would smack me with every word I got wrong. Dick and Jane. Spot. I only learnt to read by Class 2, my teacher – the first American I ever met, finally taught me. I don’t remember how, but suddenly all the words made sense, and fell into place. Years later and much older I found out I am dyslexic, not badly but enough that I have problems with numbers and reading and left and right. I loved my teacher though, she was part American-Indian, long black hair, and such a soft voice. She took us to a Mosque, and explained to us, why girls could not go in, but boys could. We were learning about different religions, as a class project, I don’t remember the other places of worship, there must have been, but the Mosque made the biggest impression on me. We were allowed to tour it eventually, with our shoes off, and the light and patterns were so rich, and when we were shown where women could me, the man showing us around was embarrassed. I mainly remember the blues and lattice work, and the soft carpets.
It is said your brain retains all, but accessing it is the problem, I wonder how you improve that?