Memory Construction

Finally I finished reading A Place of My Own by Michael Pollan. I felt exhilarated, like I just jumped off the top of Nostalgia Falls.

I used to have this morning routine. I would wake up early, start heating up some water for tea and make myself a small bowl of granola, fruit, and yogurt. I would gingerly set the pretty bowl (frosted glass), steeping tea (ceramic 'Grampa' mug), and a glass of water (again, frosted glass) on a barstool next to a corner of our couch in our living room, open the windows (right behind the couch), play our one Nora Jones CD, and read a book. Usually, this was a cookbook. I would read it line-by-line, admiring the vivid photos and absorbing the recipes like they were thoughtful, corky, short-stories. Today, A Place of My Own was my recipe, an ash desk outline was my food photo.

This particular corner of the couch + time of morning + open windows + NJ playing was my own way of building my Writing House. Instead of a house, it was Model Body; instead of Joe (the invaluable carpenter that helped the author, Michael, build Writing House), it was food; instead of weekends, it was mornings.

Sitting there today brought back this feeling of excitement, achievement, purity/cleanness of my body, spirit, and mind...all the things that I associate with my cookbook fairytale mornings. It's strange how I think so highly of these mornings, because everything else going on in my life at the time wasn't all that great. I've almost completely erased and forgotten all the negative stuff from then.

But I think people's brains tend to that; or at least mine does. I tend to exaggerate emotions and feelings when I remember things. If, overall, something good was left behind in my mind, then all the stuff that supports that become magnified; likewise, when I recall an overall feeling of sadness or pain, then all the stuff that made me feel that way becomes exaggerated while the happy moments become downplayed and ring false.

In this case, a cozy feeling of goodness was left behind; these morning memories radiate/project/embody aaammmmazzzzingness. I had been building a place of my own (I just hadn't quite realized it).