Is it the first week of June already? Whoa.
I'm leaving town again tomorrow. I'm heading to Pennsylvania for a day.
And,
I'm being zapped by the nostalgia fairy. She gets me good every now
and then. I was born in Pittsburgh and spent the first few years of my
life in town called Cranberry (was that the name, Dad?). We lived in a
big yellow house with a stream running through the backyard. I rode
Spin-outs (a type of Big Wheel?)
in the basement with my brothers, ate fresh snap-peas in the garden,
hunted for turtles in the front yard, kept a glass hotel for fireflies,
walked to my tap-dance class down the street and only caught rare
glimpses of my pet cat, Zeek.
I had a photographic memory as a child -- they called me "Finder Girl," because I could find any misplaced thing by "flipping through the pictures in my mind," as I described it. I could tell my parents exactly where to go. That memory situation left me with unusually clear recollections of a time that most folks don't remember, including many memories of being in my crib. We moved away from Pennsylvania when I was only four years old and that state's had a golden glow in my mind ever since.
It's been a life dream to make my way back there to cross-reference my
memories with reality. The whole "someday I'll take a trip to
Pennsylvania" thing. And here I am, finally setting foot in
Pennsylvania, but with no time set aside for exploring. I'm a bit
weirded out. Does this make any sense? I'm feeling a tad oh-my- I'm-going-to-Pennsylvania and a bit dang-I'm-skipping-the-dream-part -- all at once.
Worthy of a post? Hmmm. Maybe not. I do think I'll be heading there again. Exploring my childhood haunts is on my short list of life goals. But, I can't deny I'll be eyeing the rental car booth at the airport and calculating the added expense of extending my stay.
