When I visit the back corners of my life

When I visit the back corners of my life again after so long a time, littlest things jump out first.  The oilcloth, tiny blue windmills on white squares, worn to colorless smears at our four places at the kitchen table.  Our father's pungent coffee, so strong it was almost ambulatory, which he gulped down from suppertime until bedtime and then slept serenely as a sphinx.  The pesky wind, the one element we could count on at Marias Coulee, whistling into some weather-cracked cranny of this house as if invited in. (The Whistling Season, Ivan Doig, A Harvest Book, Hartcourt, Inc., New York, NY, 2006)

I am a big fan of Ivan Doig.  He is a Montanan (although he nows lives in Seattle.  But that's OK.  I live in Spokane!).  He writes about White Surflur Springs, the Crazy Mountains, ranch life, ranch people, love of place~ truly home country  for me.  He brings back memories of times gone by.  Times gone by in so many ways, i.e. coal cook stoves, pot belly stoves, out door johns, and memories.

The above quote is the first paragraph of his novel The Whistling Season.  I was reminded of the common thought that the first sentence of a novel has to be a "grabber".  I remember Snoopy changing the classic opening line of "it was a dark and stormy night" to "he was a dark and stormy knight".  The importance of the opening sentence always stuck with me.  Hence, my love of Doig's opening sentence "When I visit the back corners of my life again after so long a time, littlest things jump out first."  We all have back corners of our lives.  And, the littlest things jump out first.  The sentence immediately set me to thinking.  I guess its my age.

I challenge you in the comment section of this blog to complete the thought process of  "When I visit the back corners of my life again after so long a time, littlest things jump out first".   Label the corner of your life.  I will start the process.

Kitchen at the Dairy

When I visit the back corners of my life again after so long a time, littlest things jump out first.   A black wood burning kitchen stove with loaves of bread rising on the chrome fronted back shelves ~ if we were lucky, cabbage rolls.  A one half pound coffee can filled with bacon grease awaiting duty call on another stove shelf.  A kitchen table covered with a red and white checkered oilcloth, sugar bowl, depression glass salt and pepper shackers neatly in place.  The ever present designer glass of peanut butter - mom was saving for a full set!  The occassional bawl of a day-old calf coming from the back porch where dad had placed the calf (often times with other "warming" calves) hoping that it would recover from the frigid cold of a late spring snow.  And, the ever present faint smell of cow manure.  The sweet smell of success as my father used to say.  I will not repeat what my mother used to say.

OK your turn.  Don't let me down!  These essays will be graded on the "curve".