Take You Back To My Room

This prompt takes me back to my favourite bedroom growing up. Of all the bedrooms I have had, and there have been many, this was my absolute favourite and one I have written about before. Why I am so drawn to this room is still kind of a mystery to me - it definitely wasn't my largest room. In fact, the double bed pretty much took up most of it, though there was space for an old hand-me-down chest of drawers and a short, narrow bookshelf against the opposite wall. That left a small carpet area that allowed my closet to open and that's about it. I enjoyed that bedroom from just before my 9th birthday until just after my 13th birthday when, heartbroken, I moved across town with my parents and younger brother.

Every inch of that bedroom was mine, from the floor where I played with my action figures and dolls...everything from He-Man to Transformers to My Little Pony...to the ceiling. Almost every inch of wall was covered in magazine pictures of Chad Allen, Kirk Cameron, Will Smith, and other teenage heartthrobs.

The bookshelf housed my collection of Babysitters Club books next to all of the Sweet Valley High books passed down from my cousins. Where there weren't books, there were little figurines I collected and other assorted paraphernalia, mostly of the 5 cent machine variety. I also used to make these little "mice" out of pistachio shells. They lived in my bookshelf, too. I guess the bookshelf doubled as a doll house - each shelf was a separate floor in the house.

The chest of drawers contained my clothes, of course, but also the jewelry I loved to wear, my Final Net hairspray and a little lamp that didn't provide enough lighting as I agonized over every detail of glamourizing. My dad tried to give me a math lesson in multiplication once; he said "We have 6 mirrors in this house and you spend 10 minutes in front of each one before we leave the house. How long does it take for us to leave the house?" I don't think he was joking.

The absolute best part of my room was my bed. A double bed to a 9 year old is huge! I felt like a queen climbing into that bed at night, clicking on the lamp attached to the headboard and opening up my latest novel. I remember the nights I would read until I could barely keep my eyes open, sliding ever further under the quilt my parents brought over from Kenya. Finally, I would succumb to sleep, knowing that I'd end the next day this way, too; I knew that Elizabeth and Jessica Wakefield would be waiting for me to read about their enticing adventures.

This bed was also the place where I wrote my very first journal entry on July 1, 1988 just after my 10th birthday. It was the bed on which my mom taught me how to fold laundry and where I would spend many summer afternoons folding my clothes, listening to Mariah Carey on my tape recorder. My window curtains moved in the breeze as I imagined the freedoms of being a teenager (what did I know?), contemplated things like love, happiness, and friendships. From my window I could hear children playing outside; sometimes I joined them, sometimes I stayed in and read. Those long, long summer days when I knew I could always find safety in my haven when the frequent outings and visitors got to be too much.

Winter in that room was oh so cozy! Getting out of bed to go to school was my least favourite part of the day. I used to do this terribly dangerous thing - I would drape the shirt I was going to wear for the day over the lamp on my chest of drawers so it would warm up while I brushed my teeth and went to the bathroom! I have no idea how I didn't burn the entire house down in the process. I did this all the time. Yikes.

If I wasn't reading, there was always music on. Everything from Bobby Brown, The Boys, New Kids On The Block, Mariah Carey and Bell Biv Devoe. It was fun to listen to the music and imagine that I was cool enough to be a dancer in their videos. Who am I kidding? Sometimes I still imagine that!

I miss that room and have often visited it in my dreams. In some ways I am trying to transfer those feelings to my new space that is only mine: my studio where I am right now. Is it OK for a 33 year old married mother of 2 to hang up pictures of Will Smith in her studio? Hmmm...I'll have to think about that. I don't think this studio, or anything else, will ever take the place of that room. That room also represents an era in my life, of when my parents and my brother and I were all under the same roof. Those days are untouchable.

A Sweet Memory

There once was a lady who made the most fabulous cupcakes. I barely remember this woman's face and in fact, cannot picture her moving or talking. She is kind of this side profile of a still figure in my mind. She was a member of our congregation in Victoria and it must be at least 25 years since she's passed away, but her cupcakes are still alive and well in the memory cells of my taste buds. There was nothing fancy about these cupcakes. I'm sure they were just a plain vanilla cake with a homemade buttercream frosting (always pink and blue) but they were a sweet heavenly treat for this little girl and her brother. That simple pleasure of coming home with a plate of Mrs. Windsor's cupcakes will never be forgotten.

The fact that my taste buds have held on to this memory for so long truly is impressive because I don't even really have a sweet tooth. Given the choice, I'd take a bag of chips over a slice of cake any day! In fact, I spent much of the week post-Halloween trading my candy for those little bags of Doritos. I say this as I am licking cream cheese icing off my lips from the slice of carrot cake I just inhaled. OK, so normally I don't eat sweets.

I made a buttercream icing once (and that's how I am pretty sure that Mrs. Windsor's icing was one and the same). Maybe I'll try it again, maybe I'll make some cupcakes for my daughter's birthday. They won't be the same, I'll tell you that! I think maybe some things are just never meant to be replicated; they have their time and place and perhaps they even serve their own purpose. Maybe the elusive cupcakes I remember fondly are my way of holding on to a certain era. Maybe I am making too much out of something so simple.

Either way, I am in awe of this sweet memory - at its vividness and at the fact that a woman I barely can visualize left such a mark on me. I think that's just neat.

Thanks for reading...