I am participating in my ninth Slice of Life Story Challenge run by the team behind the Two Writing Teachers website. We are challenged to write a blog post a day throughout the month of March.
There's been a bit of discussion in posts and comments in this year's SOLSC about memories--which ones are real, which are borrowed from family stories, fuzzy recollections and crystal clear details. I decided to start a list of real memories, ones I know for certain are mine. They are presented in no particular order.
the feel of smooth, short dog hair at my feet and in the bend of my legs, under the covers (and sometimes dog gas wafting up from under those sheets)
the soft, urgent beeps of heart monitors and IV drips in the NICU; the sound of the respirator in my parents' living room
the sunrise from Senior Hill
my cheek pinched by a stranger saying "Bella, bella"
where my bedroom was located in Naples, San Jose, Stuttgart, El Paso, Jester Dormitory
tumbleweeds and coyotes strolling down Opalstone Street
brown dust accumulating in a day on windowsills
the sweet smell of dance floor fog
cruising Dyer and Transmountain and North Mesa at night
eating ramen noodles for the first time, the kind in the square package
empty stretches of IH-10 without another car in sight, only mesas in the distance (and the time I saw a B-1 bomber fly soundlessly over the desert)
how small the Mona Lisa really is, in person
spicy gingerbread hearts as big as a dinner plate, with white icing sentiments
crowded delivery rooms and kind, efficient nurses
holding my babies for the first time, weeks, hours after delivery
a blue casket with an ivory interior
docksiders and Doc Martens, prep button-collar button-downs and concert teeshirts with the sleeves cut off
cannibalistic guppies flushed down the toilet
the space between my mattress and headboard, mornings after earthquakes I slept through
This has been interesting, recording these fragments; I may continue them for the next day or so's Slices.