he won't sleep. and I, for whatever reason, want to write. right now. at midnight. and I am hungry. I want to write about Alaska before I forget... the memories slipping.... like all memories do, for me, into the inaccessible grey matter
, where most things are lost, perhaps forever.
I stopped, and went to hold Aiden, his crying was more insistent. When I picked him up he immediately stopped crying, nuzzled his sweet face into my arms and fell asleep. It is wonderful, beautiful to know you are their place of safety. I would like to always be a safe place to run and snuggle into.
Alaska, has to wait. I have a different story running through my mind right now, but Alaska will come because it has a story to be told also.
I remember the sky was dark and close, with rolling grey clouds. The ground was covered in snow, and it's glow and white light were inviting. I wanted to know what made it sparkle. I was sure that if I could capture it, keep it, I could use it for treasure. Something so beautiful and shimmery had to be valuable. But I could not. So, I did what all sensible children do and played in it instead. As long as I was in the light that surrounded our home... What I could not see frightened me. Who knows what could have been hiding in the shadows: a robber, with a shiny knife held in his mouth (all bad people carry knifes in their mouths), or a black dog foaming, barking and baring his fangs (this image was probably the fault of The Never Ending Story
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VmqQc-QOfTc). One night, we thought we smelled a skunk in the darkness, it may have been pure imagination or a prank pulled by an older sibling. In the end it had the same effect, we all shrieked and ran...
"The skunk is coming! It's going to get you!"
"The last one in is a skunk!"
We all ran piercing the night with our fear. My moon boot got caught in the icy crust of the snow and came off
"Help!" I shouted. "Don't leave me!"
The others just laughed, maybe not hearing me, and let the screen door shut. It didn't matter anymore that I was in the sheltering light of the house. I was alone. I felt panic, skunks are very dangerous animals... and if they weren't dangerous, the had a way of making things stink. I pulled on the boot trying to free it, but it stuck in the snow. I could feel the cold seeping through my unprotected sock. It was too much, I could wait no longer. I ran without the boot, my one foot plunging into the icy depths. When I got to the door my mom was scolding my siblings, "Don't you frighten her like that!"
"It was just a game mom!"
She turned to me, "Andie! Where is your boot?"
"It came off in the snow!"
"You'll need to go and get it, you can't leave it out all night."
"There's a skunk, can't we just leave it till tomorrow?"
"If it snows tonight you'll loose it, you need to go and bring it back in.
I'll stand right here and watch, you'll be safe." I don't remember if she stood at the door or if she came with me while I retrieved my boot, either way her presence made everything safer.
Of course, there were other days, other nights playing in the snow. Days and nights when my fingers and toes slowly turned to ice, until I could no longer endure it. We would run in asking for hot chocolate. When my grandpa was there I remember him holding my little hands in his large hands, looking in my eyes with a knowing smile. I still remember his blue eyes with hazel flecks. He would cup my hands together while his enveloped my own, he would blow on them and then rub them together, asking, "Does that feel better now?" I don't know why, but whenever he did that, I felt safe. I felt loved. It really didn't matter if my hands were warmer or not.
Years, and years later.
It was snowing. The flakes were delightful, falling fast and fluffy, small, freezing, wet cotton balls swirling around us. Asher and I were walking back to the car with our groceries. There was a small hill just barely covered in snow. I could see brave little grass blades incorrigibly pushing their green stems through the snow. The hill, the snow, was an invitation to Asher. "Please climb me it said." So, Asher did. Up he went, slipping and sliding, laughing. When he finally reached the top he smiled and said, " Look at me Mom!" delighted and proud. My mother's heart yearned to preserve this moment forever. Coming back down the hill he slipped. "Was that fun and scary all at the same time, Asher?"
"Yeah!" The slipping and falling quickly became a game. Climbing up the hill and then sliding down on his bum. It was fortuitous that he was wearing snow pants. Up and down, climbing and sliding calling out "Wahoo!" every time he slid down. Pure joy. It was pure joy for me. I stood there watching him, knowing nothing would happen to the groceries in the freezing weather, nothing would happen to us.... but soon, his hands were cold and he started whimpering. He came to me almost crying "It hurts mom, make them better!" And I remembered. So I looked into his big brown tear brimming eyes, took his hands, cupped them in my own and blew on them... then rubbed them together. "Is that better?"
"Yes." he said, trying to be brave... and then... "No, it still hurts!" followed by very sincere tears. We climbed into the car and blasted the heater. I suppose it didn't matter how his hands were warmed, I just wanted him to feel safe. And loved.
