As I turned the lights out last night and prepared for a long nights sleep, the wind was howling around the house and shouting down the chimney. Rain was pouring down the window in sheets, daring me to come outside and play in the squall that had blown ashore. Instead, I tucked myself into bed, turned out the lights and the rhythm of the rain was my lullaby. Popping my head out of the covers this morning, a darker than usual world greeted me, sending my mind back 35 years to the dark northern mornings of my childhood.
The year is 1972. I am 5 years old and my Mommy is brushing my golden hair into tight ponytails that pull my eyes squinty until they loosen up. "OW, Mommy that hurts!". My sisters are waiting, impatiently, at the door for me and we walk out into the dark Alaskan morning to join our cousins on our morning trek to the bus stop down the road. We have our flashlights in hand because it is pitch dark, just like midnight. Looking up Roosevelt Drive I can see all the flashlight beams bobbing down the road from the lights of the other kids who live on our street. We're bundled up tight, hoods up on our winter parka's and secured tightly around our chubby cheeks. It's dark and hard to see as we stumble our way to the big red building, (was it a fire station?), where the school bus will pick us up. Reaching the bus stop, we join the others who are already waiting. Laughing and scrambling feet can be heard in the dark morning air. "The Bus!", someone yells and we all run to get in line. Brakes squeak, the door whooshes open, we troop on, take our seats and the big yellow bus whisks us away to our day of learning and friends.
Ah, those childhood memories are sweet...
