Memory Stains, Missing things

I hear a squirrel and a blue Jay in the trees. I think a mosquito is buzzing around my head, I hope it doesn’t bite me. Kids are playing at the park, a basketball hits the concrete, “Pa Pa Pa.”  Chimes ring, the cob webs flutter in the breeze. Mid July, late summer’s quickly approaching. Brown Oak leaves and jasmine flowers scatter across the blue stone. I can’t remember the last time Alan and I sat out here, had a BBQ, or had anyone over for dinner. We’ve been out here to use the Baby swing. The rosemary has grown so big. It’s been ages since I’ve used some twigs to put on top of a roast chicken. I used to love that part. I’d be wearing my apron, the chicken prepped, giblets simmering on the stove for Billy. Sometimes I’d have opened a bottle of wine to cook with and helped myself to a glass. I would be so excited walking out and breaking off a piece of rosemary, smelling it. Proud of myself and thinking I did something really nice for my husband, making him a Roasted Chicken. I felt like a good wife.  I had time today to research a menu for tonight, Ramona’s working till 6:00. I went to the grocery store, but I had no desire to cook, I bought Sukhi’s Tandoori chicken dinner and Uncle Ben’s microwave basmati rice.


Fiona had her home visit this morning with Linda from Early Start. ( )She did very well, Linda and I heard her say flower while we read her a book. I am learning sign language, it’s not as hard as I thought it would be, Jacks learning too. Fiona hasn’t been as interested in the signs as Jack. I went to yoga today. I missed the babies being with me and really missed them for lunch at the veggi grill. When I got home I almost came upstairs when the babies woke up from their nap because I missed them so much, but I decided I should take my time. I worked in the studio on some collages. I had strange fragmented memories while I was working. I thought of my grandma’s house in the summer on Long Island. It may be the musty smell of the paper I’m using. I was reminded of an uncomfortable time, when my body wasn’t mine. A time when I’d creep around the old house when everyone was sleeping searching for secrets. It brought me right back to now.

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About Dirty Laundry Blog

Thoughts on Motherhood Through the Eyes of an Artist