The other day, as I watched Libby stuff her face with an almond butter and honey sandwich, I tried to identify the colour of her t-shirt.
(You do that too, right? Make up activities for yourself when there's nothing to do but watch your kid eat, because the dishes are all clean and the counters are all wiped and yet you can't leave because they might fall out of the highchair and bash their head open?)
It was a purple t-shirt. No -- mauve. Maybe lavender. That was my train of thought.
And then I was hit with a full-on body memory from a book I once read.
It was ... there was something lavender. It was a ... a ... dress. No ... it was ... possibly a piece of cloth that was going to be a dress. But maybe not the main character's dress, though she coveted the fabric. Maybe she had to save money to buy the lavender dress.
Anyway, when I read the book I'd never heard of 'lavender' before. There was a description that left me with the sense of a magical colour that could turn from purple to blue and then back to purple again. I was intrigued.
I have no idea which book it was.
(This is where modern technology fails to meet my needs. Or possibly where modern technology has messed with my head. I can't help but feel like I should be able to scan all my childhood books -- while they're on the shelf, I mean, click "search" and find what I'm looking for. Instantly.
Or -- alternatively -- type "lavender fabric book" into Google.
Doesn't work that way, though, does it?)
And that's not the only one rattling around my brain.
How 'bout that book where the main character invites her friend over for a sleepover and makes plans to run out to the supermarket and buy -- ooooooh -- an avocado? An avocado! (You may be wondering if it's Jean and Johnny (1959), by Beverly Cleary. Nope. Already checked. Three times.)
How 'bout that book where the main character's mother insists that she wear a skirt -- not "slacks" -- out to some fancy shindig, and then the main character storms off to her bedroom saying, "I'll show her. I'll wear a dress!" Hee! I don't get it. (Don't go digging out your old Donna Parker books (1957-1964). That's not it. Again, I looked: Donna Parker at Camp Cherrydale, Donna Parker On Her Own, Donna Parker Goes To Hollywood ... nada.)
And was it Little Women's (Louisa May Alcott) Amy who got into trouble for eating pickled lemons at school? It was, wasn't it? I can't find my copy. Go check for me. (And what exactly are pickled lemons, anyway? I'm intrigued. And salivating.)
I'm serious. I'll be pondering these details long after the rest of the world has dismissed me as an obsessive freak. It took me months, pre-Internet, to remember the name of Mork's weird sidekick in the monk's robes -- you know, the guy who was always talking to invisible people? And oh, was it ever satisfying when I figured it out. (Exidor. Oh you know you wanted to know!)
Makes you wonder what kind of bizarre, bookish behaviour I'll be passing on to Libby, doesn't it?
Oh you can't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about. Go on, tell me about the bookish details that haunt you from your tween years or earlier. Spill.
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