Monday, June 19, 2006

Memory is an amazing thing.

We have isolated little vignettes of memory.
Scraping little stores of experiences.

Sitting at the top of the stairs of our old flat on Dunn Avenue, waiting for my father to come home.

Walking at night with my cousin George, along Vojvodjanska in Petrovo Selo. No streetlights and listening to the frogs croaking. Dodging them as they jumped across the cobblestones.

The dim light, tipsy men singing "Tamo Daleko", and laughter on a summer night under the grapevines in my grandparents garden. The clinking of glasses, and the squeeking of the iron kapija opening and closing.

My Grandfathers kissing sound to the horses to get them to go.

My Mother washing chocolate off of my hands at an old sink in an apartment I don't even remember.

A light kiss on the head while he thought I was sleeping from Uja when I was already 23, and babysitting my cousins while he and Tetka Ljuba went to a wedding.

Driving through the mountains of Sarajevo in the winter, with no guardrails at night.

My Uncle Velemir telling me never to kiss anyone on the lips.

Waking up in the middle of the night crying and my cousin George entertaining me with funny faces and little plastic Indian dolls until I fell asleep again.

Me looking down the stairs at the The Mister with a bouquet of flowers standing in the front foyer.

My Stepsons in their bright red jackets, laughing and flying kites they made with their Dad down by the lake.

Memories that don't add up to anything in particular, but add up to everything at the same time.

Image: found here