wrapped warm in a winter kitchen

There are few photos of me in this house that was home to my formative years. And the ones that do exist are as grainy and blurry as my memories, yet I have flashes of scent, sensation, and smell that continue to live in my body on the most cellular level. This house was on the outskirts of nowhere, and right next door to my one and only best friend. This home of slippery polished hardwood floors and purple bathroom curtains and fragrant kitchen smells and always a new batch of kittens.

It was a house of firsts and lasts. Of learning to tie my shoes. Of getting my last pair of hand-me-down shoes, which were also my first pair of heels. How often I've longed for those blue suede wedges again. It was likely winter, but it's hard to know for sure - winter was so long there, it seems like a safe bet. This was a safe house where nothing bad ever happened except in my imagination. No other house would be that again. 

I loved that flannel nightgown. It was pretty, feminine and so perfectly cuddly. I wore it until the fuzz wore off the elbows. I can remember the sadness of letting it go when it had served its purpose. Most clothes I grew out of, but some special ones I wore as long as I could. I've never liked the feel of lace, but this gown was perfect - the flannel protected me from the itch of the lace. 

Those woven orange dining chairs itched and scratched as well, so I pulled my nightgown over my legs. I'm tucked under the peninsula cupboard that separated the kitchen from the dining room, no doubt watching my mom cook or bake while I keep the kittens out from underfoot. Most pictures from those days were special occasions but this is just an ordinary moment in time - a snapshot of a girl who is warm and safe and loved and loving. I can imagine all kinds of amazing smells that filled that kitchen - cookies, or maybe beef rouladen. It might have been game meat of some kind - maybe moose. Or maybe some magical Christmas baking - shortbread, sugar cookies, rosettes, fruit cake. 

The kittens were from one of Muffins many litters. We'd gotten Muffin as a kitten when I was only three. She  died beside my bed when I was 18. People will tell you she was a nasty cat, but I loved her and every one of her kittens - I think she had 7 litters. At some point, nearly every one of my friends had one of Muffin's kittens in their house. 

I wish the photos and my memories were more clear. I loved living in that house. I loved how spacious it was, and being surrounded by playmates in our isolated way-station on the highway. It was a great house to be a child in.  

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Today's Prompts: 

1. Post a photo of yourself from before age 10. Write about what you remember of the day the photo was taken. It may not be a full story—it may just be flashes of event and emotion—but tap into the child you were as much as you can.

2. The saying goes What you don't know won't hurt you, but sometimes the opposite is true. Talk about a time when you were hurt by something you didn't know.