feeling like a kid, deja vu, and bread

something important to know about me is that you can basically predict the weather by what i wear. if i put on a light-colored anything, or impossibly irresponsible shoes, it will rain. if i leave the house without my sunglasses, the sun moves closer to earth. days when i leave without a jacket or hat? it will snow buckets. so this morning, when i woke up, i lay in bed contemplating life by the eerie soft light of the day, and thought, “they said we might get a dusting of snow, let’s take a look”. i opened the blinds and basically flailed in excitement at what i saw:

SNOW. snow on the tree. snow on the ground. snow blanketing my neighbor’s car.

i felt like a kid again. i really don’t know the last time snow got me so worked up. but i was pretty sure that i’d open my door and be in the house i grew up in, with the smell of the wood stove and coffee and maybe pancakes or bacon, and the dogs sleeping on the brick hearth. i just knew i’d put on soft socks and go downstairs to a winter wonderland. benefit of growing up in the idyllic countryside: weather is ten percent more awesome there.

clearly, because that house isn’t ours anymore, and because time travel does not exist, i didn’t walk out of my room into my childhood. but for a glorious moment, i had this deja vu to beat the band. and i’m not sure what causes it. chemicals in the brain, surely, but those are some powerful little bastards, aren’t they? i think it’s something else, too. last night i watched an episode of nip/tuck revolving around a young woman’s death. before i fell asleep, i was feeling…blue, i guess. blue that life is always too short. blue that things end. blue that i cannot know when i will die, that i don’t get to control this inevitable fin. but then i remembered: that blueness means i get to color my life brightly while i can.

so i think maybe this morning’s deja vu was my brain’s way of being all “hey, here’s a super happy endorphin-rush of a memory to start your week off right”. and to remind me that those memories, that house, that wonderland i grew up in, it all stays with me no matter what. someone else can sign the deed on that land, that creek, those rooms, but they won’t know it the way i did. the way i do. i doubt the new owner knows that across the creek, by the fence, fairies live. or that the creek water is the perfect icy refresher in the hot summer. or that i nearly stepped on a snake by that big tree. or that we totally had ghosts in the attic when i was little. or that our driveway is The House with the Flowers in the summer.

one last piece of memory to inspire me: the smell of freshly baked bread. i think today i’ll make bread and make my house smell like my home.

*sorry for the deep thoughts and the melancholy post. just…all of the words were in there and needed out.