There is a before and an after.
I have always suspected as much but it was David Bowie’s death and revisiting his music these last couple of weeks that made this crystal clear. Just one more gift that he left ~ this one for me specifically.
I can absolutely remember the color of the sky on a summer afternoon in 1970-something; and even the scratchy feeling of the backyard crabgrass against my skin while I examined it. I remember the sound of distant lawnmowers co-mingling with Young Americans wafting through the next door neighbor’s window. I could probably describe the stitching on my culottes that hung in my closet. Or recount the pattern of the shadows that my gingham curtains splashed across my bedroom wall each evening while my brother and sister dueled with Bowie’s Suffragette City on vinyl from the basement vs. tracks from Led Zeppelin’s Houses of the Holy. Mom just turned up M*A*S*H to drown it all out. I can hang on to these things and step right back into a given day – the smell of my father’s guitar strap, the tear in the neighbor’s pool lining while playing Marco Polo, or the sound of the rippling creek in Beech Woods. Life as I knew then is still accessible to me now.