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Dec. 21st, 2003 05:11 pmThey say you can't go home again, but you can certainly still go there for the holidays. Although in my case it's more plus ca change.... A lot of the old things and people are here... there's still cats. The old computer desk on which I used to perch and cheer on my father as he played Doom, that's still here. The carpet is still white or blue, the floor still hardwood. My room still has slightly peeling paint and the black and white tile from my early childhood. The kitchen is still far too tiny. The apartment is still far too cold. Some things never change.
My mother and I made cookies today. I looked through all my old books, sang my old songs. I remembered all the words to the cookie dough song, which made me happy.
We are making cookie dough
Round and round the beaters go
Add some flour from a cup
Stir and stir the batter up
Roll them, cut them, nice and neat
Put them on a cookie sheet
Bake them, count them, one two three
Serve them to my friend with tea
She broke the old rolling pin in the process, the marble one she got as a wedding present when she married dad. I always wondered where it had come from... not always, but recently I couldn't remember. Strange to think so much time and so many things have passed. We also spoke a little about the incident with Dad breaking all the plates in one set. It doesn't matter anymore, I said. And it doesn't. Weird how that happens when time passes.
Whenever I go home, it's as though I shift gears into a more refined, more cultured. I start speaking in English and Spanish both because I have someone who'll understand either language. I watch the obscure foreign movies... The air is rareified, snootier. I go to the theatre. :) I've been spoiling for a good evening at the theatre.
I wish I could explain the strange flow of emotions. It's not nostalgia, it's something else; it's a complete and total immersion in my past. It's not coming home, but it's the heartland nonetheless. You can't go home again, but sometimes you can curl up in your old room and dream.
My mother and I made cookies today. I looked through all my old books, sang my old songs. I remembered all the words to the cookie dough song, which made me happy.
We are making cookie dough
Round and round the beaters go
Add some flour from a cup
Stir and stir the batter up
Roll them, cut them, nice and neat
Put them on a cookie sheet
Bake them, count them, one two three
Serve them to my friend with tea
She broke the old rolling pin in the process, the marble one she got as a wedding present when she married dad. I always wondered where it had come from... not always, but recently I couldn't remember. Strange to think so much time and so many things have passed. We also spoke a little about the incident with Dad breaking all the plates in one set. It doesn't matter anymore, I said. And it doesn't. Weird how that happens when time passes.
Whenever I go home, it's as though I shift gears into a more refined, more cultured. I start speaking in English and Spanish both because I have someone who'll understand either language. I watch the obscure foreign movies... The air is rareified, snootier. I go to the theatre. :) I've been spoiling for a good evening at the theatre.
I wish I could explain the strange flow of emotions. It's not nostalgia, it's something else; it's a complete and total immersion in my past. It's not coming home, but it's the heartland nonetheless. You can't go home again, but sometimes you can curl up in your old room and dream.
