journal-09/20/00

09/20/00

cici senses something's wrong, and she sticks close to me, purring and mewing softly.

i'm listening to a recording of sarah vaughan singing "dreamy" and "key largo" and i suddenly have a very vivid memory of my grandmother sitting in the living room, holding the jacket cover to the glenn miller records i had given her for her birthday. she's sitting on one of the old wooden chairs-- the ones with the hard orange upholstery and black painted wood, with her eyes closed, and she's rocking slowly, an occasional tear of memory squeezing from her small eyes.

i'm there, standing in the doorway connecting the dining room and living room, watching her, i'm back in the house i grew up in, my house, 535 northill drive, richardson, texas, old brown carpet, musty smell, comfortable.

home.

(i'm there.

my heart is there, and when my heart is somewhere, the rest of me is generally there too.)

fresh-baked bread every tuesday, ham and cheese or peanut butter and honey sandwich when i get home from kindergarten every day, setting the dinner table, my light and open bedroom with the sliding glass door onto the back porch, my grandmother's forbidden drawer--

i always enjoyed opening that drawer (and all her other ones too) and peeking in... just gazing at all the contents. i longed to touch... but i knew she'd know-- so i became stealthy, picturing exactly how everything was placed and... somehow, she knew i'd been in there anyway.

i'd go in her bathroom and look in the cupboards too. i'd gaze at all her make-up (there was so much), trying to imagine what each thing was for, trying to imagine how it would all look on me,

i enjoyed the way my grandmother's things smelled... and i occasionally find something-- an article of clothing, a scarf, anything porous that might absorb her distinctive sweet scent-- and i carefully inhale... an occasional tear of memory squeezing from my closed eyes...