Chicken pox

I was probably 4. And it was winter. There was a blizzard, and I'm not sure where my parents were. They had left me with my grandparents at the station. And my Uncle John was still at home. I had the chicken pox. I remember it itching horribly.

The night they returned, I remember I was bored beyond belief. I was, as my mother puts it, "an active child." So, my uncle bundled me into my red snowsuit- over my purple, shiny paisley jammies (it was the 60's, remember), and took me outside. It's the first time I remember seeing the snow at night, under street lights.

He put me on the back of the snowmobile, and put a big helmet on my head. Then we started riding around the motel parking lot and driveway. I remember how the helmet kept slipping, and I had to hold it so that I could see. I was laughing. We went across the streets- it was a quiet night for traffic, because ordinarily these were the busiest streets in town. We kept going and going. I wanted the feeling to last forever.

I don't remember getting off of the snowmobile. Only that my mom was a little nonplussed at the idea of her spotty daughter gallivanting in the cold with the pox. But it was lovely. Lovely, lovely.