Sitting, eating dinner, my mom asked, "Do you have any cozy memories from when you were little?" to my brother and I. My 13-year-old brother of course spoke about some random memory of waking up to a rainy morning and walking down stairs to find that the rest of us were already up and about with smiles on our faces. Not so random actually, I guess. When it was deemed my turn to share, I spoke about my memories of being 10-years-old on winter Saturday mornings. The smell of cinnamon baking apples, biscuits, bacon, and my mothers coffee would literally wake me up. When I walked down stairs my mom would greet me with her usual, "Good morning, little lizard." I would go into describing the "little lizard" thing, but I'd rather not. My dad would be watching his daily dose of the morning news and my brother would be squeezed into the most awkward little crevice he could find, which was usually the little pocket between my parents. I would then sit on the couch and curl into a ball, just to go to sleep again. Now that I think about it, I don't know why I would always do that. I guess the sound of my family's voices soothed me? Not sure. My moms cozy memory story sort of makes mine sound amateur though. She talked about living in Alaska when the days were dark for 24 hours. She would go inside from the frigid winds and warm up from the steam from the food my Grandma would cook. Beans and rice, probably, which is what us Creoles are famous for. The steam would make condensation on the windows and my mom would write all over them with her fingers. Great memory, right?
This kind of saddens me because this just a memory and doesn't happen anymore. Growing up is kind of a sad thought. Now my Saturdays are full with debate tournaments, fashion classes, and chores. I secretly envy little kids. Well, I guess it's not a secret anymore.
What is your cozy memory?