Core Conscious

 The other day I accidentally time-traveled. While sitting on the floor of my bedroom, stitching up a hole in a piece of clothing, I suddenly fell through a wormhole in time. You gotta watch out for those- not sure they can be stitched up.

So this little trip is sponsored by my brain, because it is responsible for the core memory that was the fuel for the journey. I was simply sitting, listening to music while I took time to fix a rip in my overalls. Yeah, they are intentionally ripped in some places, but it was getting a little out of hand. I finally had to break down and find time to take care of it. 

old-fashioned tunes

To set the scene: It was a sunny Sunday afternoon in the summer, so the blinds were raised. The tree branches outside my window danced with the occasional breeze, and the sunlight bathed the leaves. It poured into my window and across the bed, splashing patterns across the wall. I had put the Isley Brothers' version of "Summer Breeze" on to play on my little cd player.  As I stitched and looked out the window, suddenly I was whisked back to another sunny afternoon many years ago. 

The visual was fuzzy, but the moment came back, like I was in it all over again. In my childhood bedroom, at about my youngest niece's age (she's almost six), I played alone. If I close my eyes, I can still see the Raggedy Ann and Andy curtains my grandmother made, bordered in black ric rac, hanging in the windows. I found myself turning on my toy record player, putting a '45 (a small record that held 1 - 3 songs, like a single) on the player, and listening to the Isley Brothers on loop while I jumped on my bed. 

similar to my original

 The song then was "Love the One You're With", but the vibes were the same. Of course, back then, "loop" meant I had to jump down every single time the song ended to lift the player arm and place the needle back at the beginning of the track. I could vaguely look around my childhood room as it was then. As though I were there now. When I snapped out of it, I switched the song (in the present) to "Love the One You're With". I refrained, however, from jumping on the bed (it's on risers, and I'm adult-sized now) so as not to break anything, myself included. But I mused as I listened and finished my sewing that even though I moved forward, she's still there, without a care, jumping and having a blast. And I can visit her anytime I like. 

Have you ever had something unlock a distant, long-forgotten experience from your childhood? Something that was a core moment, a memory that was long ago relinquished to your subconscious like a photo packed in a box that's never opened?