Monday, March 19, 2012
Rainy Day Memory
We've had a rainy, dark day, with lightning and thunder this morning. And as the rain falls and the flashes and rumbles echo across the sky, I can see a little girl, maybe four years old, sitting cross-legged on the floor of a small room, playing with paper dolls. Her sister, Wanda, had already left for school, walking up the hill in the rain to catch the school bus. She had cut out the paper dolls from the catalog and made a car for them from the Super Suds box Mama had given her. Now, the little girl played in the dim room; no need to light the kerosene lamp. It gave very little light even at night, so the room was illuminated somewhat by the two small windows this morning. Today she pretended the dolls were taking a long trip in the bad weather. She pushed their car around and around the braided rug, which resembled a roadway. She wasn't afraid of the thunder; after all, Mama was in the next room and she made everything feel safe.
This is a memory which comes with almost every rainy, dreary day, taking me back to that little, gray house we called home.