A Childhood Memory
There´s one memory from my childhood that I remember particularly well. I think it was in my second year at school, I was seven or maybe eight years old. It was a lovely crimson-colored autumn day and my class had been outside in the woods by the school. I remember following a path past a great mound of stones surrounded by slank and wispy silvery-gold Birches. The September woods were sun-dappled and quiet. Our teacher asked us to gather autumn-coloured leaves from the kind of tree we liked the most, or pick the one´s with the most beautiful colours. Back in the classroom we all recieved a colour-palette each, water in a cup and some brushes, and paper of course. We had about an hour to paint the leaves as detailed as we possibly could, us being 8-year-olds with shaky hands unaccustomed to using a paintbrush it wasn´t an easy task though. I remember that we got to choose what type of brush to use, a couple each I believe if my memory doesn´t decieve me. I chose one medium-size and one real fine, perhaps about 3 millimeters thick. I started with painting the branchlets with it´s smooth bark coating in numerous shades of umber, dark brown and burnt sienna. A slender twig in the midst and two thinner one´s slightly tilted aside upwards, striving alongside the middle twig. With swift strokes of the bigger brush I applied the leaves to the paper, blending yellow ochre and scarlet red into different shades of orange and gold. Some of the foliage still wore the colour of deep green, but dry and stale, edged with pale brown and a whiff of decay. I was quite satisfied with the dark spiderweb tracery I managed to create at the ribs of each leaf, reaching from the base to the pointed edge of the tip. Eying the Rowan- branch on the top of my desk closely, I drew the last dark brown trembling linguering lines of the brittle fair stems bearing it´s luminous red offspring. Tremendously focused on my painting I didn´t hear when our teacher called for a playtime break outside. Only when the crowd of kids noisily got up, metal chairlegs scraping against the unpolished linoleum floor, left they´re desks and flowed out of the classroom I slowly woke from my deep state of concentration. Since I had made a great deal of effort with my painting, my teacher and her assistant both agreed to ask whether I wanted to stay inside in order to finish it. Shame if such a beautiful painting wouldn´t be finished, they argued. Therefore, whilst the other children were rummaging the cloakroom to put their outerwear on, opposing the sickly opressive heat of the afternoon sun and the stale drying dust-crammed air dead calm, I continued my painting. Outlined the brightly shining rowanberries one by one, noticed the gaunt twigs carried a suprisingly rich quantity of the brilliant coquelicot-coloured berries, looking as though strung together like beads within the woven pattern of fair fine stems.
Sometimes I wonder why this particular memory is still as vivid and distinct as if it occured only yesterday. It certainly feel like yesterday when I do remember, the joyous emotion of childish happiness is immensely strong. I remember clearly how the sun shone through the windows of the room, I remember which colours the rays of light aquired after scattering reflections on deep red and dark green varnished pine-panelling. I remember the rich smell of sunny warm wood, dirty gritty sandals, pencils fresh from the box or newly sharpened, dusty old books... Feelings, so many happy feelings. I´ve considered whether or not it was the joy in beeing allowed to stay and continue to do something I loved, painting, that made me remember this so clearly. Or whether it might have been the unexpected act of the teachers that made the grand impression for me to remember. They took notice in me, for once they saw the invisible and constantly unnoted girl. The shy and timid one who never asked questions, never asked for help, never asked for anything, she hardly spoke at all in class. As the occurence came to pass the every-day-life at school continued same as before, only with one tiny but oh-so-very-important change. The girl rather silent still, but now knowing she is not altogether invisible, thus making it easier to endure the times when unseen and unnoted. Now she knows she can be seen and due to that she will be seen more frequently, growing more visible and noticeable every time she´s seen. One day she will be visible to all and she will speak freely, her words will flow light-hearted and easy to all who listen and see.
Ett inlägg värt att spara från gamla bloggen..
Torsdag 11 Mars, 05.41; Husspöket Laban är på besök...
Efter att jag sa detta gick han och la sig igen, han fick säkert mycket att tänka på. Men jag tror att han kommer förneka det ett tag till och leka bläckfisk istället, men han brukar sluta med det lite senare på dagen. Nu ska jag gå och dricka mer kaffe.
Hejdå
Spöken har inte själar, dom är döda människor
/Nörden
Presentation av de boende på Treblinka-kollektivet Januari 2009
***
Perfektionisten och egoisten Cissi: Wannabe-MacGuyver som alltid tar hand om folk och fixar och trixar med allt möjligt. Kaffepimplare och WoW-nörd med en dröm om att alltid vara vaken.
Citat: "Jag gör som jag vill!"
Narcissisten och interaktivisten Niklas: Färgglad och bråkig, socialt skadad eller bara lekfull, det beror på hur man ser det. Hopplös diva som egentligen bara menar väl.
Citat: "Om ni undrar varför jag kollar i spegeln är det för att ni andra inte är snygga nog att titta på."
Tjockisen Maja Gräddnos: Huskatten med ett missbildat öga (som ni kan se på bilden "Om oss").
Äter jämt och jamar ibland så man blir tokig, men alltid världens bästaste katt som vet när hon behövs. Mår någon dåligt så hittar man alltid Maja i närheten. Hon är ingen knäkatt, men ändå väldigt gosig då hon själv vill.
Pessimisten Adde ("Utkastad"): Den trötta killen som kommer på fest i pyjamas. Sover alltid men klagar jämt över att han inte kan sova. Passionerad guy-on-the-couch som duschar för sällan. Lever på mackor och O'boy.
Citat: "Jag vet ingenting"
Materialisten Millan (Flyttat): Fjortis och WoW-nörd som spenderar dagarna med att gnälla på allt och alla. Förbrukar stora mängder cola och levlar långsamt. Hon är den enda av oss som har körkort och bil så hon får skjutsa oss för det mesta, och det uppskattar vi henne för. Citat från Millan: "Ööh, jag är mätt/ trött/ hungrig/ whatever!" *med gnällig röst*
Ligisten Nicke (Flyttat): En macho kille som ser ut som en fotbollshuligan då han varit vaken för länge. En av hans största drömmar är att Aslan ska komma i egen hög person och hälsa på. Han har lite hett humör men har alltid björnkramar på lager när man behöver dom. Citat: "Livet är ett enda stort practical joke."
***
Aah, the good ol´days! Nah, skönt att inte behöva leva i det kaoset. Kul minne trots allt. :)
