KristyWes

BACK

I'm back from a long weekend at home for Thanksgiving, and I think my back may be broken. Ok, it's probably not broken, but after a morning spent raking leaves in my parents' yard, muscles I never knew existed are aching & shouting at me every time I move.

It's not a terribly terrible pain, though - and it's a reminder that I participated in that age-old suburban autumnal experience: first admiring the golden-hued leaves as they cling to the trees, then cursing them once they're on the ground requiring disposal.

The funny thing about my parents' back yard is that it just keeps shrinking and growing ever more foreign. Time was, I knew every inch of it - the number of steps from my swing set to the prickly holly bush, and how to avoid tripping over the dead tree stump when sneaking out of the basement door in the middle of the night. (mmm...hope my parents aren't reading this :) But as I stood there raking yesterday, the yard felt small and unfamiliar. I couldn't picture what lay beneath the leaves - where was that stump? Where does the path to the woods start? Hey - what happened to my swing set!?

It's a strange feeling - revisiting the places of your past and finding them unfamiliar. When I'm home, I sometimes let myself go tripping through memories and drive by my old school, or by the house of a friend who doesn't live there anymore, or by some other landmark of my youth. Each time I go expecting to feel something - a tangible ghost to rise up and douse me in nostalgia and sadness for days-gone-by. But most times I don't feel anything. I just stare blankly at the building/road/lot before me, remember the events that once transpired there, and think, "Huh."

So, yes. I've been thinking about feelings and memories a lot lately; perhaps a topic for a separate blog-post. Happy post-Thanksgiving! Wishing you easy adjustments back to reality.