My Memory Blanket

 Today is going to be a beauty of a brisk bright blue, not a cloud in the sky, spring day.   

It's Tuesday, and like every other Tuesday, the low guttural noises of a motor and high pitched squeaks of  brakes coming from a garbage truck woke me.  

We used to live next to an elementary school.  A convoy of school buses would pass by our house early morning and late afternoon.  The not so melodious refrain coming from the buses is nearly the same as our Tuesday garbage truck. 

Sometimes, the Tuesday garbage truck noise tricks my not quite awake brain back into a time warp of long ago.   Before I am fully awake, as I lie in bed,  swirling memories of kid shouts and giggles chase each other around in my head.  

I hear my own voice calling to my children, "Come on now, hurry, hurry, or you will miss the bus." Of course that was the first warning.  The second, third and hopefully not too often, the fourth call would probably not have been as gentle. 

There are no school buses in my neighborhood.  Just us old folks, no kids allowed.  Most times I like the peacefulness and the quiet of the mostly empty streets. 

But this morning, like my worn, but still warm, flannel sheets, the thoughts of little kids and school buses are fuzzy but cozy and I want to linger just a little longer under my memory blanket.