Thursday, August 26, 2010

Memory

he'd say, "let's tickle the old ivories," and we'd sit, he and i, cramped on the creaky piano stool he built himself, hymnal splayed between. his finger pads would fly, crescendo up the scale, warm-up. p. 52 waits with shaped notes--diamond, heart, circle--old-time methods for old-time songs, and a rugged cross stands solo. i sing, feeble, sweet, unsure, but happy and believing.

there were other times i remember happiness- walking down to his shop, viennese cafe smoking pale white tendrils against winter smells of sawdust and vicious cold, my hand burning around the mug.

or, that summer: his beat-up blue ford, truckbed ready for haulin' and workin', us 3 girls squished inside the cab. we were at the paradoxical age of 12: still young enough to gobble greedily the mountain dews and m&ms and old enough to begin experimenting with eyeshadow and furtive glances to see if any of the workers noticed us.
summers and winters end, and the world is changed after.



14 comments:

Nancy said...

There is poignant beauty here, in pictures of tickling the ivories and the old rugged cross and stepping over that threshold of experimenting with eye shadow. Lovely.

Brian Miller said...

tight write and beautiful piece...i have memories of time in a wood shop with my great uncle lawrence that ring as sweet...nicely played.

Jodi said...

Gosh, Misty you made me feel 12 again.

Leslie said...

These are sweet memories. You make me want to write mine, too. I like this part:

"viennese cafe smoking pale white tendrils against winter smells of sawdust and vicious cold, my hand burning around the mug."

You made me see and smell and feel this.

Carrie Burtt said...

Memories make such sweet prose...love "tickling the ivories". Such wonderful imagery in this piece. Lovely writing!
:-)

patty said...

these changing worlds... what are we to do? :) sweet post that draw up memories for me as well, as i am one of 3 girls, too, and we sat squished in a cab of another truck a lifetime ago. thanks for taking me back home, :) and for visiting me earlier today.

Wandering On Purpose said...

Makes me think of myself at twelve - especially my 12-year-old-piano-playing-self.
Your last line really grabs me.

joanny said...

Beautiful - tender and poignant - makes one reflect on their own memories. I also felt part of you -- you painted such a vivid picture, the cold, the coffee, the truck,the hands on the key board, the growing up pains of identity --

A truly unique walk back through the windows of your mind.

Keep on writing you have some wonderful things to say.

Cheers,
Joanny

Flower Patch Farmgirl said...

This speaks to me. It is lovely.

shaktimama said...

This is tender and sad and beautiful. I love the last paragraph especially, the juxtaposition of innocence and maturity, always a strange place for young girls.

Much love.

shaktimama said...

This is tender and sad and beautiful. I love the last paragraph especially, the juxtaposition of innocence and maturity, always a strange place for young girls.

Much love.

shaktimama said...

Oops ... I apologize for posting twice!

emily wierenga said...

absolutely gorgeous writing, friend. it seems out of a book... so beautiful. xo

Graceful said...

And this one transports me to another place and time. Again, lovely.