For the first installment of the My Life In A Curtain Bag series, I thought a cute picture of little me struttin' my stuff in my walker would be perfect. So here I am in my bright yellow, coordinated outfit having a great time (Don't get used to coordinated outfits, because most of my childhood was not spent in coordinated clothing)... I don't know who the others in the picture are. And though my memories go back really far, like back to age two, I don't have any recollections of this day. But Gosh Darnit! Wasn't I CUTE?
The next picture is from around the same age, but I must be a bit older because I have ditched the walker... Or maybe it just didn't work in the sand...
But first, a little story: All growing up, I had the same pillow. It was dingy, and got dingy-er through the years, but through the dinge I could detect some tiny little rosebud type flowers. I thought my mother new what a girly- girl I was when she picked it out for me. When I say dingy, I mean it was a nasty grey color. All my life I thought it was from all my drool. And most of it probably was. I sleep with my mouth open and always have, my nose has never worked right, so I am a mouth breather. I never gave the condition of my pillow much thought. I ALWAYS used a pillowcase so why think about it.
Shortly after I was married, I had a discussion with my mom about the beloved pillow. Somehow, in the course of the conversation, the truth of the pillow's history came out.
"We found your pillow on the beach", said my mother, who I had loved and trusted through out the years.
My jaw dropped.
"What were you?! Hippies?! That sounds just like something some hippies would do!", I asked.
"We washed it", she answered.
Nine years later, I am still disturbed by this news. And as I shuffled through the curtain bag and found this image, I know deep down inside me that this is not only the day they found the pillow, but also the exact moment they broke the news to me that it was to be mine.
Count me in!
12 hours ago