Memories are made of these...

I woke up early this morn' to the blissful sound of rain...almost called in but remembered that tis friday and we do get off at noon so why call in.
My mind travelled to my early primary experiences and for some reason all I could think about was Sister Pauline standarding over us, during music lessons, and yelling as loud as her lungs had capacity for. This one memory that keeps haunting me is when she wanted, no was demanding for us to memorize a poem (My Shadow by Robert Louis Stevenson). Why, I thought, do we need to lock this to memory...I'm still wondering. Years later I still remember every single word to this poem and can recite it without much struggle...I highly believe this is due to dear Sister Paulines seeming threatening manner and consequent punishment if we didn't master what she was attempting to instill in our minds...

My Shadow
I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,
And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.
He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;
And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.
The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow
Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow;
For he sometimes shoots up taller than an india-rubber ball,
And sometimes he’s so little that there’s none of him at all.
He hasn’t got a notion of how children ought to play,
And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.
He stays so close beside me, he’s a coward you can see;
I’d think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me
One morning, very early, before the sun was up,
I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;
But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head,
Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.


Have a fab wknd y'all...