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The research alone on this is the most disgusting thing I have subjected my eyes and mind to.
I was 7 or 8. The vivid memory of this innocuous craft store experience is now burned into all five of my senses. I can still smell the earthiness of the basket weaving materials my mother was perusing. I remember touching the reeds as I followed behind my mother. I remember the din of the florescent lights.
However it was my visual senses that tattooed images on my little mind after my unexpected stumbling on a phobia that I did not know existed until well into my later years.
This basket, previously hidden to the side of the front door, came out and jumped into my consciousness for the rest of my life. This simple basket contained a collection of lotus pods (writing this is literally causing my scalp to stand my hair follicles on end). Obviously they were a selling feature in this strip mall craft store.
To me, it was horror and revulsion.
As soon as I met my new, yet to understand, nemesis, I turned and saw EVERYTHING. These forever held images were stored in my mind like a photographer curates his collection. Those florescent lights. The colour of the walls. The stainless steel on the front door that held my escape. The smell of our rust coloured Pontiac sedan…
