This morning it was hard to get out of bed.  Not because I was exhausted, or even because I was not looking forward to school, but because I was 9 again, waking up to a morning of fog while I was snuggled in my bed.

I love fog.  I specifically love my memories of fog on the mesa, those afternoons spent running amock throughout the neighborhood on Selrose Lane.  We would careen down “Bigfoot Hill” next to the Wilcox property on our skateboards, 2 or 3 to a board, depending on how big you were.  The precursors to luge dreams, our sneakers were primitive brakes used at the bottom of the hill.  After each successful, or even unsuccessful run, we would trek back up Bigfoot and do it again.

At some point exhaustion and hunger that only come from the joy of genuine play would overcome us and we would scamper back to Perry’s house.  We were a tribe, a troop, a hodge-podge of kids munching on Macaroni and Cheese.  I don’t think I’ve ever had macaroni like that anywhere else- the texture was almost as if Scotti (Perry’s mom) hadn’t put enough milk in it, but I loved it, it was perfect.

We rarely bothered with TV in those days, there was far too much to be imagined.  While crawling around on the hard wood floor, playing pretend, I would glance up every now and then and gaze out the backdoor.  In the time I had eaten my weight in Mac n’ Cheese the outside world had been transformed, from the sunny coastal paradise tourists stop and take pictures of,  to a world of obscurity and clouds.  Dewy and damp, the fog crept upon the house and neighborhood.

I loved it, I still love it- the sensation that the whole world has disappeared except for the house.  I think it’s the closest feeling to floating in the sky. When you’re in a plane you know that you’re going forward REALLY fast and that takes away from the feeling, but when you’re a little kid in a house surrounded by fog…. you are in your own domain in the sky.  Being in a house that is bombarded with fog makes me feel cozy, safe, like I’m watching the world change around me without being touched by that change, floating on.

On the mornings like this one, when I was actually little, the richest thing in the world was to look out the window on a Saturday, be overwhelmed by the sight of a dense cloud of water droplets, and revel in the fact that I could stay snuggled in bed till the fog burned off.  I was not pressed for time, I did not have to go anywhere, I could remain nestled in my kiddom.

Now though, I’m in the realm of the grown up.  Fog still fascinates me and elicits memories of a childhood I thoroughly enjoyed,  I’d like to stay wrapped and twisted in my comforter (I still thrash and roll in my sleep) but I know I’ve got to get up.  I’ve got to go to school, I’ve got to be part of another generation’s childhood memories… I hope the ones I’m involved in are good… but I also hope the ones of their friends and their little kid adventures are even better.  This is all because of fog.  : )

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