Cabins and Such

I guess you could say I'm feeling nostalgic today.

My father and I were driving home from Springfield. Not satisfied with whatever CD he was playing, I popped in Classical Gas by Mannheim Steamroller. (What!? They have albums that aren't Christmas themed? Yes. They do.) I was instantly taken back eleven or twelve years. My mind didn't point to any specific memory, but rather impressions. I felt as though I had listened to this very CD, sitting on the worn couch at my family's cabin. I could nearly hear and feel the crunch of leaves beneath my feet. I could almost smell fresh brewed coffee and cinnamon. I could almost see my sweet mom cooking tomato soup over the gas-fire stove.

I have so many sweet memories at this place. From the portrait of my great-great-great-grandpa (who fought for the Confederacy in the Civil War) to the old cast-iron stove that we like to roast peanuts on: our cabin is near and dear to me. It reminds me of a much happier time in my life: when my mom was still alive and things were much simpler.

We used to spend every Thanksgiving at the cabin. We'd go down the night before to get ready for the feast the next day. We'd eat soup for supper, read National Geographic, and play Trivial Pursuit. No telephones (no one had cell phones then), no wifi (it didn't exist). Just family. Those are some of my fondest memories.

We'd also take picnics there in the summer. Chicken salad sandwiches, cokes, sketchpads and books.

These memories and impressions bring such joy to my heart, along with a twinge of sadness. I hope I can bring my (future) family to the cabin someday. Resurrect old traditions, tell my (future) kids about what a sweet lady their grandma was.

I could go on, but I'll stop here, before the tears come. ;)

xo,
Katy