Rugs (Kid Stuff)

Pockets of the mind.  What’s all there?  Some moments, years past, play out as clearly as those of the current hour.  Yet, vast stretches of time on either side of that event remain dark and dormant.  Sounds, especially music, can awaken long lost memories.  And the soundtrack from movies can create a mood that makes a scene come alive although it depicts places and events that are completely foreign to the viewer.  Aromas, powerful yet intangible, can evoke memories just as strong but equally difficult to hold. 

And then this treasure presented itself while chasing in Wupatki National Monument in Arizona.

The site immediately triggered images of tiny Indians, some riding proportionately small horses.  And toy cowboys as well.  All mixed together with soldiers made of green plastic in an old shoe box.  Next, a collection of Lincoln Logs in a metal canister along with a very select few marbles.  And finally, most importantly, came the rugs. 

Throw rugs would be gathered from around the house and piled together on the living-room floor.  Kneeling, I would mold those rugs into shapes that my mind would almost magically transform into landscapes of never ending features.  Sometimes mountains and plateaus.  Sometimes plains and valleys.  Sometimes canyons.  Then stomach prone, upper body supported on elbows, my hands would reach out and place those tiny plastic figures in positions of adventure.  Horsemen racing across the plains.  A lookout on the tallest peak.  Fortifications nestled in a narrowing ravine.         

Standing next to that ancient pueblo perched on edge of that arroyo brought back memories that are now held dear, not to be lost again.  An age of innocence was recaptured.  A time when I allowed the little boy in me to simply do little boy things.  No questions of right and wrong.  No self-condemnation.  No judgements.

And for a brief moment, I allowed myself the privilege of looking past the pueblo and on to the dry steppe that melded into the distant hills.  A toy Indian was taken from that ragged, old shoe box, mounted on the fastest horse, and placed far out on the plain.  And before my very eyes a wake of dust rose in the distance.