a new appreciation
On today’s walk I pass places-as-milestones in my life here.
Here, a tall hedge of greenery in front of which I asked my sister take a photo of me proudly wearing both of my babies in a woven wrap — one on the front, one on the back.
There, the park my kids call Bear Park, its namesake two bronzed bear statues that playfully pose near a spigot that in summer, sprays an arc of water similar in intensity to a suburban lawn sprinkler. The water that pools underneath it is cool and there are shady benches to sit on.
Here, the chipped paint of Pier 6, a park I still consider “new” though if I count the years, I know it’s been around for a while now. This is our water park, our summer home, our backyard.
There, a place we set down our blanket for last year’s fireworks, the girls making instant friends with an older girl with long hair named Gia, running through the open lawn, in between the gatherings of people, all waiting for the darkness to come, for the sky to light up with fire.
The memories of these spaces is thrown into some kind of relief when I walk by them now. I’m remembering time in a different way; with all the usual noise quieted. The memories being created now are mostly interior.
My six-year old (the one on the front), asks me why they can’t watch the Barbie show on Netflix. I explain my reasoning in general, but relatively clear terms, she comes back with a very specific and reasoned counterpoint. I think, didn’t I just carry you on my body yesterday? We laugh, feeding off one another’s bewilderment of each other, and through a smile, she asks Why are you laughing? and I reply with the only truth I know. Because you came out of my body and now you’re asking me why you can’t watch the Barbie show and it’s very strange! We continue to laugh and laugh, until I tell her that that’s it. No more. We will talk about it later. We giggle a little more and I say good night.
These places-as-milestones, spaces-as-memories. There are so many and everywhere I walk I see them. I carry them all, too.
