Our building’s laundry is broken, so we gathered our stuff and went to the laundromat this morning. I got Wee Pup ready for a walk, and once we got outside and the first thing I noticed was the smell of snow on the air, just enough to hint at it.  Like, clean laundry on a nice summer day, pulling it in off the line and shaking it out to incase a few friends decided to hang out on the clothes. 

The smell of snow makes me think of living in my childhood home; we had a huge garden, a playhouse that was half house and a half attic-style lookout/school room with a balcony, slide and full of memories. There was a sandbox underneath the attic-style side, with a designated spot for a stove and all the usual sandbox things; the back wall was plywood that was replaced every so often so we could cover it in notes, drawings, maps and other silly things. The house side had the kitchen set, cleaning set and some tables/chairs, I think (my memory is a little hazy about that), with siding, a white door, and I think there may have been a window I could be wrong. The playhouse was made with leftover stuff from different construction jobs, maybe from the forest behind the house and lots of love and hard work. 

The snow makes me think of being a kid, going to space, finding lost treasures, having a bakery (featuring a mud pie special), helping with laundry, helping in the garden, going on a go-kart, making igloos, bike races, going to see the horses and cows down the road, learning how to drive tractors with family, walks with the family and those I have been raised (and still think of) as family. 

Part of me misses the innocence of being a kid, how I looked at everything. In some ways, I still have the naivety, but the perspective has definitely changed; it’s amazing how things have changed, there’s a song I forget what its called, but it has a line that goes something about not knowing that its the last time you’re doing something till it happens; it’s coming to mind today thinking back on the memories. As a kid, I thought I’d be able to visit my childhood home whenever, that it would always be there, never change and walk through the memories we were making there. I can think about them, but it’s different from being there, smelling the forest, the woodstove and hearing the sounds and other things im not thinking of writing this. 

Thats all the words coming out today, so im going to head off for the day; I hope your day is lovely! 

Till Next Time, 

Meg

Main Image by Ryan McGuire from Pixabay