I got an email this morning. Xta accused me of being a slacker blogger. Asked me what was up with the past couple of weeks.
I told her I was blaming a head cold, extreme busyness and a lack of fresh blog fodder. So, rather than post stuff that left me yawning I thought I'd give the WWW a break.
But Xta told me that my daily post waiting for her in her inbox was a kick start to her day.
I am not immune to threats and flattery (real or imagined) so here we go. Plinky prompt to the rescue. Feel free to chime in with your own answer in the comments, and with threats, flattery or any combination of thereof : ).
My memories are rich with scents and sounds. For the most part, the scents are probably best left unremembered. I did have two brothers, after all, and we mucked horses and did a go around with chickens. Just sayin.
The sounds that remind me of childhood..trains, road trips, and summer storms. We lived a few miles from a train yard. My nightly descent into sleep was populated with clangs, whistles and revving engines. Those sounds wove themselves into the fabric of my sleep memories.
More irregular sounds flashed into my psyche during some of Iowa's impressive summer storms. Rain rhythmically pattering on the rooftop right above my corner bedroom and cascading down the gutter and down spouts softened the rumbles of thunder. And eased my fears when lightning cracked the sky.
And one of my favorite sounds from childhood...road trips. We had relatives who lived a distance away. We'd pile in the car and drive. The usual squabbles probably hastened my parents' aging process and increased their blood pressure, but to this day, I love a road trip. Whining, fighting, complaining, potty breaks...they are part the pleasure of being held captive with my near dear ones.
But I digress. Back to the childhood road trips. Once my brothers calmed down, and usually went to sleep, lulled by the hum of tires on pavement, I would relax into the car seat and soak up the sounds. The thrumming tires, the relaxed breathing of my brothers and the muted conversations between my parent, the sound of security.