With Lots and Lots of Knots

When I was really little and still sleeping in the crib, my parents always had a hard time keeping me in bed. They must have been so frustrated because eventually my dad fabricated a top for it. He made it with the same kind of wooden jail-bars the sides had, except I remember the wood was unpainted pine rather than finished maple. They used a rawhide shoelace to fasten it with lots and lots of knots.

I remember laughing because my grandfather (Papa Herman) had to take his knife to cut the leather lace because even he couldn't untie it. It's all so clear but I think I must have been only around two, because I was born two years before he passed away.

It's strangely incalculable the 'pictures' we chose to form what and how we remember. Things often seem to drown in everyday insignficance until our personal history unwinds sometime later but even then, the reasons as to why aren't so clear. It makes me wonder what knots of today, that I'll eventually and as fondly discover.