I Forgot

While walking into town from our AirBNB yesterday, we passed a giant pile of leaves in the easement by the curb.

I’m talking a big-ass, holy-shit-is-that-a-3-foot-high-pile-of-leaves kind of pile of leaves.

And I wanted to jump in it.

All I could think is when have I ever jumped in a pile of leaves? I grew up in Texas and all we had were pine needles and no one in their damn mind jumps in a pile of pine needles. Pointy, scratchy, ow.

I couldn’t remember if I’d EVER jumped in a pile of leaves in all my 45 years. Maybe I’d just seen it in so many movies, read it in so many books, or heard it as a colloquialism for an idyllic childhood that I convinced myself I had.

I stopped on the sidewalk. Stared at the pile. Make Clark Kent turn around to look at this splendid, crunchy pile of beckoning nature. I scanned the block…

And there, in the driveway just up from the pile of leaves, stood a man from a landscaping company at his truck.

Eyeing me.

Like, do not even think about jumping in those leaves, Becky.

So…I smiled. Waved. Linked my arm through Clark Kent’s and continued down the sidewalk towards town.

And I still am convinced I’ve forgotten what it feels like to jump in a pile of leaves.

So today, I’d like to hear about what YOU might have forgotten. The exact temperature of cool water from a garden hose on a hot summer day. The texture of Silly Putty (and all the places it ended up that it didn’t belong). The taste of Play-Doh (shut up, you ate it). How you always got the shitty, dried-up glue stick in art class. The smell of Aqua Net hairspray.

Tell me. Let’s not forget.

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