Marcel and Me

Proust may have had his madeleines (yum, madeleines), but for me it isn't taste so much as sounds that can rip me right out of the present and land me with an almost visceral thump right back in my childhood.

It's raining this morning and I walked into work in my sneakers and, as I walked down the hall, they were squeaking loudly. And it took me back to grade school and the sound one's red rubber boots made on the hall floors. I usually spent rainy days resenting the fact that I was a girl. See now, my brother, who is about 6 years older, had the coolest rain gear. He had a yellow slicker, with a matching yellow hood-like hat that snapped under his chin and had a visor. The slicker, and his black boots, had the coolest closures. They were metal...one side of the slicker had metal buttonholes and the other side had these little metal tongues that you slid through the hole and snapped closed. (I've looked through 20 pages of Google image and can't find a single picture of this kind of slicker.) The lining of the coat (which was just the backside of the slicker material) had red and green safety admonishments and pictures of things like traffic lights and policemen.

I don't remember what my raincoat was like, but my boots were stupid red boots with two little rubber buttons and elastic closing them at the top. Dumb girlie boots.

In fifth grade, I think it was, my mom let me wear my brother's raincoat and hat to school. Boy, was I proud. Still had to wear the red boots, though.

The next year I had a blue slicker. I think it snapped up the front and the hat was a tie on bonnet that always seemed to dribble water down my neck. It just wasn't the same.

And man, you could sure work up a clammy sweat in those slickers.

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Another sound I love that can transport me to childhood? That sort of whickering sound that robins make as they hop through the yard. Something about that takes me back to summer evenings at the house where we grew up, sitting under the front porch, listening to the grown-ups talk above me. Crawling out from under the porch finally, as the dark deepened, and curling up in my dad's lap until my mom shooed me in to bath and bed.

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So what sight, sound or scent throws you back to childhood?

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The sock is coming along. Last night, what with my exercise biking, My Name Is Earl, CSI, and The Office, was not a big knitting night.