I don't remember my classmates' names from elementary school. Lots of stressed and worried but well dressed for the photo day kids. And the corner of the photo is ignorantly cut out. I remember cutting it out because there was a photographer's assistant who made it to my class picture! I still feel he ruined it for us!
I don't remember the names of streets I walked with my friends on cool evenings of summer vacation days. We would cross my little town back and forth looking for other friends or free plum that just fell of trees along side walks.
I don't remember the colours of Polish Golden Autumn. I crossed that park a millions of times coming back from high school. Picked leaves and chestnuts, chased red squirrels, cried with rain. That's where my friend and i concocted a plan to go to Acting School after finishing Maturity Exam. Fate had it planned differently.
I don't remember the smells from my mom's pre-Easter kitchen. I do remember how busy she was before. She baked and cooked for an army, but there was only four of us.
Sunflowers in Spain, March 2019
I remember the first bite into that "cream ice cream". I purposely say cream and not vanilla, because there was no vanilla in my childhood ice cream, but boy! What an amazing ice cream it was. Looked like butter, wrapped in silver paper with a sign "Lody Smietankowe".
I remember my neighbours doing spring cleaning. Massive amounts of people on their balconies obsessively washing windows, their kids beating on carpets to get rid of dust, ladies washing hallways on all fours.
I remember the smell of the bookstore at the end of August. Full of all fresh notebooks, erasers, pencils, markers, bristol boards. Otherwise half empty most of the year. Full of unwanted, sad school supplies. and bored sales-ladies hanging over the counters.
I remember being mesmerised by simple decorations on church Christmas trees. They would sparkle and give out silvery flashes of light as they turned in the mix of cold and hot air of the Midnight mass. And me sitting in a pew. I wore my burgundy corduroy pants that had been sent to me from my cousins from Canada. I felt like a million bucks!
Some things I must let go to remember some things. I try to hold on to them as if I was a hawk coming back to the nest with a nice catch of a still moving, fresh flesh. It is precious and life giving.
One of the memories is this painting. Once upon a time my husband and I crossed Spain on our bicycles. I still have a lot of memories that linger on and wait for me to work up the courage to get them out into the daylight and come to your monitor. I remember how we cycled around many gorgeous sights. Sunflowers, lots of them. Farms and olive trees, black pigs, sheep shepherds and their dogs, storks. Hot and dry air. Lots of sun. Not a drop of rain. And in the distance, whenever we stopped to look back was always something to take our breaths away. Views to be painted. Views to be written about. This one I carried in my memory for almost 14 years.
