I was born in Ann Arbor.

I was born in Ann Arbor.  My Texan momma assures me the winters there were bitterly cold, but my only memory of Michigan is of a lake in the summer.  Sitting on a blanket on the beach, I was startled by a daddy-long-legs.  My father gently picked it up and held it out to me, telling me not to be afraid.  I could see how tame the spider was, crawling up and down his arm, and so I asked to hold it too.  My husband told me years ago that daddy-long-legs are the most poisonous of spiders, but their jaws are simply too weak or too small to pierce human flesh.  I’ve never verified that fact, but I like to think of it whenever I see one.

My family moved to the suburbs of Philadelphia when I was three, into a rented house in Bryn Athyn.  My memories of that time are hazy visions based more on photographs I’ve seen or stories I’ve been told.  But I can clearly picture the headboard of my childhood bed.  It was matte brass, hollow metal, in a tic-tac-toe pattern.  I used to wind my fingers through its squares at night, grabbing onto the bars and plucking them to make sounds.  Sometimes I would use them to pull myself backwards, up into a bridge, and I would look around the room.  I’d imagine what the house would be like if the ceiling was the floor.  Stepping over the door frames to get into the rooms instead of gliding through them effortlessly.  Climbing the stairs, ascending and descending ramps, instead of using the steps.  I still find that idea fascinating.

When I was 4, I saw an Indian pow-wow in the backyard of that house in Bryn Athyn.  I was watching TV in the sunken rear room when I heard a noise outside the window.  I rose and pulled back the scratchy curtain.  A group of Native Americans in full feathered regalia sat in a circle in the grass, chanting.  A man who appeared to be the Chief looked up.  The rest of the men turned to follow his gaze and when they spotted me behind the glass, they looked angry.  The Chief leaped up and raced towards the window.  I threw back the curtain and just FROZE.  It felt like forever before I was brave enough to peel back a sliver of curtain and peek out.  But nothing was there.  The noises had stopped.  The men were gone.  But the memory remains.

2 thoughts on “I was born in Ann Arbor.

  1. I suffer from Mineres Disease too. It’s been 23 years. My episodes used to be infrequent and far between but as I aged it has become much worse. I started with watching my sodium in my diet and j still adhere to that. I am on a diuretic also and just last week had a shot of gentamicin in my ear due to unstable unremitting Mineres. It was like a God send for a week and the past three days I am confined to my bed with dizziness. I know this too shall pass but finding your recipes helped to pass the time while I am down and out . Thank You and God Bless. I hope your road will be easier than mine. XO Juliet

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Juliet,

      I’m so very sorry to hear how you’re suffering and hope that this episode passes quickly. I’m so glad you found my site and the recipes offer some relief. Wishing you all the very best!

      Christy

      Like

I LOVE COMMENTS!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.