Sights and Sounds

Brooke shrugged out of her coat as Mark slid it from her shoulders. Draping it over his arm, he turned to the attendant at the coat check. As he accepted their ticket from the attendant, Brooke spoke up, "What is this exhibit again?"

"It's a collection of photographs." Brooke turned toward Mark with a frown, her eyebrows knitted together. "But, it's a special collection. Trust me."

Guiding his date toward the line of other guests, Mark slipped Brooke's hand over the crook of his arm and read from the printed program. "It says here that this display is the collaborative result of six years worth of work by Benjamin Meer and Charlotte Kalmen. Benjamin Meer has a twin brother, William, who lost his sight as a result of Stargardt's Disease. Benjamin compiled this collection of photographs for William in order to capture favorite moments of their childhood, a scrapbook of sorts."

Brooke shook her head. "A lot of good that would do his brother. A bit thoughtless, don't you think?"

"But that's where Charlotte Kalmen comes in. Charlotte is a composer and pianist and it's her contribution to the project that I think you'll appreciate. Studying Benjamin's photographs, Charlotte wrote original songs to accompany each image, telling the story of each memory through music."

As the couple approached the first photograph, Mark handed Brooke a small device. "What's this? A remote control?"

"Very funny. This first image is titled, "Morning Breaks". It's the view out the kitchen window of the Meer family home. Now if I type in #124, we'll hear Charlotte's interpretation of this early morning moment."  Pressing the keys on the control, Mark held it up near Brooke's ear.

The first few notes seemed to be calling up the sun, beckoning its tentative rise over the crest of the hill. As the song continued, Brooke could make out the notes of birds calling out greetings to one another and the long sighs of the earth awaking. She smiled as the last notes evaporated. "That was lovely," she smiled. "It gave me goosebumps." Rubbing her arms, Mark directed them to the next photograph.

"This one is #135 and it's titled, "Old Porch Swing". According to the program, the boys spent hours on this porch swing, telling stories and listening to the world around them."

Brooke grasped the control to her ear, each note painting a picture of pure joy. Transported to the edge of that swing, she clung to the armrest and listened to the laughter of the boys, felt the summer breeze blow her curls back from her face. She rocked back and forth, hearing the creak of the old wood.

Mark's gaze drifted away from the photograph, landing on Brooke's upturned face. His own eyes glistened as he watched a single tear slip down her cheek. And then another. As she turned her sightless eyes toward him, his felt his throat tighten. In the silence that followed the final strain, Brooke whispered, "I could see the sunshine."

Image courtesy of Unsplash.

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A 500-word piece inspired by the image above. 

Bubblegum

"Thanks for waiting, Sweetie."  A glum face stares up at me.  "You don't have to stop whatever you're playing.  I just wanted to let you know that I'm ready when you are."  Her pout transforms into a toothless grin and she turns back to her passel of girls, all sitting criss-cross-applesauce in a cramped circle.  Giggles erupt as I walk away.

Later on the drive home, I ask, "What were you playing?"

"Bubblegum."

Suddenly I'm transported back to the 2nd grade and from somewhere, hidden away in the forgotten recesses of my brain, the words tumble out...

Bubblegum, bubblegum in a dish,
How may pieces do you wish?
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6!

Eyes wide with surprise are reflected in the rearview mirror.  "You know that game?!?"

A smile creeps across my face.  "I was a kid once, you know."

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Linking up with Write at the Merge this week - 200 words inspired by the picture above. 

Fog

Andy hears water splashing and a shout from within the fog.  Goosebumps cover his skinny arms as he slips on the wet concrete.  Leaping into the cloud, the hot springs envelope him.  Cannonball!

Photo credit:
Bérenger ZYLA / Foter.com / CC BY-NC-ND

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Linking up with Trifexcta: 33 words to tell a story inspired by the picture above.  I remember many winter trips to the Ouray Hot Springs and the eery cloud hovering over the warm water while chilled swimmers appeared in the midst, speed-walking their way to locker rooms.  And warm showers.

The Spice Rack

I dump a spoonful of curry into the waiting pot.  As it hits the butter and onions, a savory plume fills the air causing my eyes to water.  I give the mixture a few turns before setting the timer.  Opening the cans of pumpkin and broth, I wait.

The curry stains the spatula, a pervasive seasoning that invades my nose ... and my mind.  Smiling, I remember a game my kid sister and I played.  During long days or slow nights, we wander to the kitchen to explore our mother's spice rack.  One stands, eyes squeezed shut, while the other riffles through the cabinet.   Seizing upon a bottle, the chooser unscrews the lid, holding it out to the sniffer.  We can't touch it and our eyes must stay closed, but we can take our time dwelling on the mystery smell.

With eyes clenched tight, we breath deep, hoping that the aroma will spark a memory -  a dish our mother might have prepared recently.  If we were lucky, we'd helped with that dinner and maybe, just maybe, we'd had the job of seasoning.  Suddenly the name springs to mind and we exclaim, "Cumin!"

As the curry dances above my pot, tears prick my eyes and this time it isn't the onions.  My head swirls with memories of that childhood kitchen:  the slanting floor and the crooked door jam leaning to the right;  the upper oven that never worked and the little shelf above the sink holding an army of penguins because my mom commented one time on their cuteness; the louvered pantry door stuffed with Christmas cards.  I learned how to bone a chicken in that kitchen and I watched my mother roll out tortillas.  She made both look easy.

The timer beeps and I'm jarred back to the present.  Aaron saunters up, putting one arm around my shoulders.  "What's that smell?"

"It's curry."

"Can I help?"

"Sure, Buddy."

The tradition of "Name that Spice" and "Help Mom in the Kitchen" continues for another generation.

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Linking up with Trifecta: 33-333 words inspired by the single word dwell (to keep the attention directed.)

Linking up with Write at the Merge this week - inspired by the sense of smell.

Be Big

Tip, Tap
Tip, Tap
Tip, Tap
Tip, Tap...

Sitting at our desks, we can hear Ms. Skoumal walking briskly down the hall to our classroom.  A few squirrelly students scramble for their seats, sliding in just as she breezes through the door.  She smiles broadly; big, bright blue eyes twinkle, happy to see us and her huge and wild head of red hair bounces with each step.

"Good morning!"

She turns to the chalkboard, her skirt swirling about her, and in her flowery script writes today's date, a little flourish at the end and her trademark happy face with the loopy-dee-doo on top.  She twirls to face us and claps her hands.  Smiling again, there is a smudge of bright red lipstick on one of her top teeth.  She has big teeth - not unattractive, but it might be that they are trying to keep up with her enormous smiles.

"To the rug, Class!"

She sashays to the back of the class and gracefully folds her tall and curvy frame into her rocking chair, tucking her long dancers legs to the right.  Knees together and ankles crossed, her high-heeled shoes peek out from her flowing skirt.

Sitting at her feet we listen as she reads to us and when the pesky rabbit gets into trouble again, she laughs.  A big and loud laugh, with her head thrown back and her eyes closed.

Everything about Mrs. Skoumal is big.  And she makes us feel a little bit big, too.  Even if we're only 2nd graders.  In fact, she makes us feel so big, like we could be anything and do anything, that even after we graduate from her class, we happily sign up for her after-school tap dancing classes ... just to be big with her some more.

Tappity - Tap
Tappity - Tap
Tappity - Tappity - Tappity - Tap!

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Prompt #5 - 2nd Grade Teacher - whom I still look for every 4th of July ... to see her big eyes, her big smile and her big head of crazy red hair.

Time-Traveling Smell

A few weeks ago I finally broke down and mopped my kitchen floor.  I had put it off for quite some time citing that drippy, summer popsicles and juicy, slurp-worthy peaches made mopping the floor a moot point.  But soon it became obvious that spot-cleaning wasn't doing the job and the patch beneath our overly generous water dispenser in the fridge was noticeably sparkly and clean.  Hence the need to mop.

I pulled out my bucket and rummaged under the kitchen sink for my bottle of lemon-scented floor cleaner.  As hot water poured into the mop bucket, I unscrewed the cap of the floor cleaner and I was instantaneously transported back to my childhood.

Suddenly I am nine years old standing in the locker room at the Ouray Hot Springs Pool, shivering from head to toe as I fumble with my locker.  I stand on the cold concrete floor in front of row upon row of metal cubicles, dripping in spite of my towel haphazardly draped across my shoulders.  My fingers and toes are wrinkly and puckered and my arms and legs are covered in goosebumps.  A puddle is forming at my feet, water running down my legs from my soggy Speedo.  I hear the clang of other locker doors slamming shut, the giggle of fellow swimmers and the steady shhhshing of the showers.

And I smell the lemon-scented cleaner the pool staff uses to sterilize the floors of the locker room.  Pungent, powerfully strong and lemony-clean.  Apparently the same cleaner I use on my kitchen floor.

It's astonishing how one little whiff can wash away 28 years and send me back to a pool filled with swim team memories.  Complete with goosebumps.

My sissy and I ... in our pre-swim team years.

I used to be taller than my sister.

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#1 - Describe a smell that brings back memories.

small things {sit-n-spin}

small things #33 ... sit-n-spin

I always wanted a Sit-n-Spin.  As a kid, I lamented the lack of a Sit-n-Spin in our home.  In fact, the story goes that as a youngster, when gifted a See-n-Say, I celebrated, sat and sproinged the spinner.  Proof that a See-n-Say does not substitute well for a Sit-n-Spin.

As an advocate for spinning, I made sure that we had a Sit-n-Spin for our kids.  And we have now been the proud owner of two.  The first was great until some little person tried to sit-n-spin with it turned upside down.  Oops.  The second is still sitting and still spinning.

Just the other day, Lydia renewed her love of sitting and spinning, bringing the Playskool spinner up to the family room from it's banishment to the basement.  At first she was insistent about helping Baby S to sit and spin, but upon realizing that Baby S didn't want to sit or spin, she let her go.  Now she happily totes the spinner from room to room and sits and spins to her heart's delight.

Most recently under the kitchen table.

She sits cross-legged with her little chubby calves pressed agains the post of the Sit-n-Spin.  She grips the disc with both hands and by some strange three-year old intuition, pulls in the opposite direction to start up her momentum.  She giggles.  She laughs.  She leans in toward the center in a tight ball.  She stops and looks up at me with a dizzy grin.

Her glazed eyes tick, tick, tick back and forth.  Attempting to stop the world from spinning.

Yep.  I always wanted a Sit-n-Spin.  But now I get dizzy just watching my baby.

Sit-n-Spin ... a childhood memory that is best left in my childhood.  My inner ear can't handle it.

Snapshots from Spring Break ~ Time-Warp

About a million years ago (or maybe it just seems like it ...) I took riding lessons.  Once a week, my mom would load us three kids up in the station wagon and drive the winding dirt roads out to the country.  Once a week we would climb up on one of Anne's horses and trot around her corral.  

And once a week, I was an Olympic equestrian jumper.  

In reality I was a pipsqueak bouncing around the paddock while hanging on tight to King Jay or I was wrestling with Frosty as he stood stubbornly chewing grass and refusing to budge an inch ... yanking on the reins and fruitlessly kicking him.

What fond memories ...

Which makes last Thursday such fun!  Ashley's birthday gift from us was an afternoon riding horses at a friend's house.  I think she liked it:

For about an hour, Ashley plodded around the corral with an enormous smile on her face.  Each time the owner walked back my direction, they would stop near where I stood.  But when asked if she wanted to go around again, she would grin and nod, "Yes, please!"

Norah and Aaron also had fun taking turns riding whichever horse Ashley wasn't currently on.  Norah had an equally wide-grin while Aaron was a bit more "joe cool" about the whole thing.  He sorta slouched back in the saddle and held the reins with one hand ... like he'd been riding horses his whole life!

Such a fun afternoon!  And fun snapshots to remember the day when my kids were Rodeo Princesses and Bronc Riders ... at least, in their imaginations!

Thanks, Atencios ... looks like we'll be back!

Snapshots of the Heart ~ Peace-Loving

Ah, siblings ... the relationship that experiences the most fire and sparks.

My kids actually really like each other, but there are still fireworks from time to time.  Not of the, "Oooh! Aaah!" type, but of the "Eeek.  That sulphur makes my eyes water.  And the noise makes my ears hurt." type.

More often than not, the blaze begins burning when one kiddo provokes the other.  Lying under the surface of this friendship is a smoldering desire for life to be fair ("If he gets screen time, I want screen time, too."), a quest to be significant ("She always gets to sit next to you at dinner.") and a fear of being left out ("They're playing and they said I couldn't.")  All it takes is one well-aimed poke with a stick and the flames lick up and sparks fly.

Gratefully, I am able to recognize that this is a natural part of growing up, living in close quarters and sharing a life together.  With gentle shepherding and a lot of grace they will survive this season of life and their friendships will be stronger for it.

Kinda like these two little girls:

If you can imagine, my sister and I had some rather explosive interactions with each other as kids.  Don't let those sweet smiles and freckled noses fool you.  While we loved to play together, be it Barbies or Time-Travelling Hula-Hoops, we also knew how best to stoke up one another's insecurities.  I, for one, remember a few heated arguments in which there was a mutual desire to hurt one another's feelings and fingers, if we could time the slamming door just right.  No, indeed.  There were times when the word, "peace-loving" would not have described our sibling-hood.

There is one incident in particular that I have yet to live down ... one afternoon when I definitely took advantage of my big-sister-ness and stoked the fire.

We had been sent to clean up our room.  I'm sure it was in dire straights as we were both organizationally challenged as kids.  One of us still is.  (That would be me.)  I'm sure that working was the absolute last thing that I would rather have been doing, so as I surveyed the mess before me, I came up with a game.

"Let's play Cinderella, Allie."

"Okay.  What do we do?"

"Well, say like you're the princess, Cinderella.  And I'm the wicked step-sister."

"Okay."

"As the wicked step-sister, I command you to clean up all the clothes on the floor."

"Yes, Sister."

"Okay.  Now I command you to put all the books back on the shelf."

"Okay.  What are you going to do?"

"I'm the wicked step-sister.  I just have to sit here and tell you what to do."

"Oh.  Okay."

"Good.  Now it's time for you to make the beds.  Except for this one I'm laying on.  Do this one last."

"This is a lot of work."

"Yep.  Being Cinderella is a hard job.  But you're doing great."

"Can you help me with this comforter?"

"Nope.  That's Cinderella's job."

"I think I'm done playing."

"Almost.  All you need to do is clean up all the stuff on the closet floor.  Get to it, Cinderella!"

"It's really messy in here."

"Yeah.  Being a princess is hard work."

knock, knock, knock ...


"Hi, girls.  How's it coming along?  Your room looks pretty good."

"Thanks, Mommy!  We're playing Cinderella!  I'm Cinderella and Morgan's the wicked step-sister.  She sits over there and tells me what to do.  And I get to clean!"

"Excuse me?  Uh, Morgan ... may I speak to you please?"

"Gulp."

Not a shining moment as a big sister.

I'm so thankful that my baby sister has not held this against me (all these many years...) and that we enjoy a close friendship now.  A friendship in which we don't stoke up hurts and sparks, but enjoy the warmth and peacefulness of sisterhood.

I love you, Sissy!

"Father, let my children make every 

effort to do what leads to peace."  

Romans 14:19

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Prompt #5 ~ Share a story about a sibling.  Joshua ... I guess you're off the hook.  This week. :)

Eternal Pizza

Is there anything quite as powerful as a smell to nudge us along on a little walk down memory lane?

A few days ago, I stepped through the doors of my kids' elementary school and got a blast from the past.  Wafting down the hall from the cafeteria was the aroma of pizza.  Not Domino's.  Not Pizza Hut.  Not Papa John's.

Pizza a la cafeteria.

From when I was in elementary school.

Thirty years ago.

How could it be that the pizza being served to the students that day was the same from thirty years ago?  (Not the same-same pizza, but you get the idea.)

Was it the smell of the bread?  The same white dough pressed out into rectangular crusts?

Was it the smell of the sauce?  The same tomato sauce poured from the ten pound can?

Was it the smell of the cheese?  The same mozzarella, bought in bulk and sprinkled haphazardly?

Whatever it was ... it was the same.

This astonishing aroma would lead me to believe that somewhere in the back of the cafeteria there is a cookbook that has been passed down from cafeteria manager to cafeteria manager.  Decades of meals used again and again to feed the masses.

"Sloppy Joe's for 100"


"Tuna Casserole for a Crowd"


"Chili and Cinnamon Rolls - Serves 8 Dozen"


"Rectangular Pizza for the Throng"

How is it that this pizza lunch hasn't changed?

I chuckled about this eternal pizza as I made my way to the cafeteria to see my kids.  A pizza that has been around yesterday, today, and apparently, tomorrow.  And maybe that's okay, seeing as it was my favorite school lunch and my boy will spend his own hard-earned money when Pizza Day rolls around.  If it's not broke, I guess there's no reason to change it!

But as great as that pizza is (in my memory, at least), it's still just that.  Pizza.  And it's not really eternal - it just seems like it!

In reality there is only One Who can truly claim to be eternal.

⁸ Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever. (Hebrews 13:8)


And He's better than pizza any day!

Time-Warp Wednesday ~ Headphones

Last Fall, Aaron scored a newish MP3 player at a yard sale for three bucks.  Boo-yeah!  With a little internet research on Daddy's part, it was quickly stocked with all Aaron's favorite tunes.  And he was quickly tuned out of any and all family discussions.

He could just listen to the music on the iPod, but
that wouldn't be as cool.

Just a few weeks ago, Norah saved enough of her own money to buy an iPod shuffle.  It's blue and contains several hours of her favorite music:  High School Musical, select songs from Les Mis and Gypsy Kings.  That girl's got eclectic taste.

Now if only her ear buds actually fit
her tiny little ears.

Many moons ago, I was also the owner of my own little music box.  It was literally a box and it played cassette tapes.  It was pink, it sucked AA batteries dry and I loved it.  With my large, black headphones on my head and my walkman clipped to my elastic waist band, I was groovin' and looking pretty cool.  See?

My mom and I on Christmas morning.
I have the "I'm too rad" slouch going on.

I think the beads were just there to accent my awesomeness.  Along with the pink slippers.  And the black sports watch.

Awe. Some.

Time-Warp ~ Favorite Family Portrait. Ever.

Growing up, we sat through a variety of family portraits.  We have several snapshots of just us kids, sitting on plush carpet fluff, smiling and posing with perfectly curled hair.  We have the typical montage of school pictures with the typical backdrops.  And the typical terrible hair-dos.  Then there's the one of us three in white and turquoise with the tightly pegged pants and the tightly permed hair.  It's tight.

We have an Old Time portrait from when I was in middle school ... a little pioneer family sitting round the Christmas tree.  It looks authentic: sepia-toned, dresses and hats from that era and a jug of Jack Daniels on my lap (turned so the label didn't show, of course!).

Then we have the portrait sitting from during my senior year.  My dad's parents were out for a visit and to commemorate having us all in the same place, we had a series of pictures taken.  There are several of just us three kids in a variety of poses.  I imagine that there were also several of just the adults and a few other combinations, but of the group, the only one that I truly remember is this one.

Isn't that awesome?

This picture was the beginning of a long-standing joke regarding my brother's ability to be utterly photogenic.  At the drop of the hat.  Meanwhile, the rest of us are apparently oblivious to the camera man.  Or asleep.

Not only do I love this photo, but I love that it's the one that our family chose to print and frame.  In fact, this lovely snapshot hangs in the stairwell of my brother's house.  I think I need to dig up my copy ... it's one of the most photoshop-free photos of our family.  Authentically Nadel. :)

Listen! Do You Smell Something?

There is a great line from Ghostbusters ... the usual silliness that sticks with you!

 

Hee, hee ... I love how Egon just looks to his hand-held gizmo and starts investigating again!  Makes me want to watch the movie again.  Just to enjoy the lines like this one - where you start giggling because you know it's coming!

The other day, I had another run in with smell.  I was snuggled on the couch with my big kids reading through the last of "The Mysterious Benedict Society" (a book/series I would whole-heartedly recommend, by the way) when I most definitely smelled something.

Stinky feet.

Whew!  I was surrounded by four foul feet!  How could their feet get so smelly?  Their cutsie little tootsies that I used to kiss when they were itty bitty?  Now you couldn't pay me enough to get me that close to their doozy feet.

"Whoa, guys!  Your feet are stinky!" I teased.

Giggling they pulled off their socks.  As if that would help!  Now there were four feet and four separate socks that were making my eyes water!

"Aaah!  Go put your socks in the hamper and grab a baby wipe.  A little clean up down might help a bit!"

While the kids were gallumping upstairs to dispose of the hazardous waste and detoxify their feet, the smell lingered and suddenly I was standing in the locker room of my old school ... and it smelled the same.

My nose transported me back to gym class in middle school - the metal doors of the lockers clanging, the futile attempts at changing with any modesty, the giggles and groans from those who liked gym and those who didn't and the pervading smell of stinky feet.  I could feel in the pit of my reminiscing stomach the same anxieties that came along with being a pre-teen:  acne, physical development, fitting in, standing out, being cool ... not being stinky.

It was surprising to me how vividly those emotions from 20+ years came flooding back ... all because of a couple of stinky feet.  My sense of smell is a powerful tool for remembering ... but not always unpleasant things:

There is a particular cleaning product that whenever I smell it, I am walking through the dressing room at the Ouray pool.  I'm shivering and trying to dry off enough to get dressed quickly.  I'm wishing I could turn around and get back in the steaming hot springs!

When I made cinnamon rolls for Christmas last year, I used my mom's recipe and the smell of the sweet dough brought back memories of hanging out behind the counter of my mom's bakery and how she was never quite able to wash that smell out of her clothes.

Sitting at the pumpkin patch last week, perched upon a hay bale, I was warming in the sun.  And the hay was warming, too.  That sweet sent of warm straw surrounded me and I found myself standing against our old horse, Jake.  He's eating the hay I've just brought for him and I'm snuggled against his toasty side listening to him chew and feeling the heat radiating from his belly.  He has his own wonderful smell.

Smells are powerful ... in more ways than one!

God made us this way, I think.  Seeing as He engineered and designed us with great care and intention, I would have to say that he included this connection between our noses and our memories on purpose.  And this connection is also linked to the rest of our being!

In the Old Testament, God used the Israelite's noses on a regular basis to keep His children close to Him.  And often times to woo them back to Him.  Through the use of the incense burning perpetually before the altar and the smoke from the burnt offerings, the Israelites could not escape the smells of God's presence.

 ³⁴ Then the LORD said to Moses, “Take fragrant spices—gum resin, onycha and galbanum—and pure frankincense, all in equal amounts, ³⁵ and make a fragrant blend of incense, the work of a perfumer. It is to be salted and pure and sacred. ³⁶ Grind some of it to powder and place it in front of the ark of the covenant law in the tent of meeting, where I will meet with you. It shall be most holy to you. (Exodus 30:34-36, emphasis mine)

With the aroma of incense in the air, the Israelites were reminded of God promises and His presence.  As they gathered for worship at the temple, their hearts were ready to hear from God.  It was almost like God was saying, "Do you smell something?  Listen!  I have something important to say to you."

I think God still uses our noses today to draw us closer to Him ... the delicate smell of the communion wafers - a gentle reminder of Jesus' sacrifice; the aroma of a meal heating in the church kitchen - the promise of community and belonging; the scent of evergreens at Christmas - ushering us into the celebration of Jesus' birth; the whiff of 120 sweaty kids at Vacation Bible School - the opportunity to share the love and hope of Jesus in exponential ways.

We can't disregard the power of smell or the potential we have to smell and listen.  And learn.

Day 1:  Mom in the Midst

Day 2:  My Button is Lame

Day 3:  Splendidly Lavish

Day 4:  Keeping My Head Above Water

Day 5:  Time-Warp Wednesday ~ Little Me

Day 6:  Me, Myself & I

Day 7:  Food For Though ~ Bacon

Day 8:  The Aches and Pains of Service

Day 9:  I Heart You

Day 10:  Who is Me? {part 1}

Day 11:  Who is Me? {part 2}

Day 12:  Who is Me?  {part 3}

Day 13:  Handmade with Care

Day 14:  Food For Thought ~ Carmel & Apples

Day 15:  A Bunch of Rocks

Day 16:  Not Recycled ... Redeemed

Day 17:  What Do You Do?

Day 18:  Washed on the Delicate Cycle

Day 19:  Know Thy Limits

Day 20:  One Snapshot ~ Many Stories

Day 21:  Food For Thought ~ Malt-O-Meal

Day 22:  Cartwheeling for Jesus

Day 23:  Take a Load Off

Day 24:  Listen!  Do You Smell Something?