Sometimes out of the haze

Sometimes snatches of forgotten events bubble to the surface, and I grab hold.

I remember my one schoolyard fight and being hauled in front of the principal, a mean Nun, Sister David. My explanation was filled with righteous indignation as I was defending a friend, and the guy bothering her deserved to be hit way harder than I could have possibly hit him. I was ten. The principal agreed, to my amazement, though she thought my technique needed a bit of refining.

If I close my eyes, my mind can bring me back to places far away in distance and time. I remember what each of our apartments looked like and can walk the rooms. For eight years the way to school never changed and each house, each landmark became frozen in my memories. Some houses no longer exist, the store fronts and the old ladies looking out the windows have been gone a long time, but I remember my walk exactly as it was. I visited my old neighborhood awhile back and although things change some things never do. The walk to my grade school is exactly as it was some forty five years ago.

The first movie which scared me was The House on Haunted Hill with Vincent Price. When the skeleton comes out of the screen, I darn near pooped my pants.

I love the fun of remembering.