Giraffe

When I was little, around five, I enjoyed lying on the floor. It was comforting for whatever reason. I still have memories of watching TV sprawled out on the rough beige carpet. The NBC special logo would roll onto the screen and I would get all excited because I knew something was coming on just for me. It was usually Charlie Brown and I had the best seat in the house.
This is the kind of memory that often pops in. There really is no point to the memory, it's really just a cozy feeling. And now I'm left wondering how memory works. This is a mystery I'm sure to never solve but I enjoy thinking about.
For example, the other night I'm out on the carport. It's evening, just a hint of blue in the dark sky and it's cold. I am out there enjoying the cool and the smell of cedar mulch. Phil walks out and says "the laundry room has a draft..." or something like that. At that moment I am five, on the beige carpet, all the lamps are out, the TV is on, and my mother says "get off the floor honey, there is a draft." As chance would have it, I had never up to that point heard the word draft. I was five and therefore still had a limited vocabulary. Did I question the word? No. I just used what I had and understood my mother to say "get off the floor honey, there is a giraffe." At five, I had not read more than little golden books, but I had been to the zoo. Imagine my surprise. I looked for a little giraffe around the house for days.