Odd Still Life

Ehem! Excuse me for typing with my mouth full, but . . . Waffles!

Anyway. The post I was thinking about today was kind of strange. It was a memory I thought I had and couldn’t have had. It’s weird.

I was thinking about memory this morning. (The novel I’m working on has a great deal to do with memory.) Anyway, I started thinking about something I hadn’t thought about in years.

When I was very young my mother and father and I lived in a very old house, down the mountain from my father’s parents. I know that I was between three and four years old when we lived there. I know that I didn’t go to school while we lived there. The memory I had though was sort of a flashback of me studying for a grammar school spelling bee. I remember walking around in that house, carrying one of those little booklets they used to give you, with the study words in it, getting my mother to help me study.

I’m positive it couldn’t have been that house, but that’s the way my mind remembers it.

To tell you the truth I wish I hadn’t started thinking about it. When you start questioning your memories . . . Eh. Probably something simple like I’m thinking of a different house or something. Probably some place that looked like the house I’m thinking of.

Then again it could be the human brain, being its strange and eerie self.

Never mind. (Maybe.)