Childhood Whimsy~

Blowing Dandilion pods.  Swinging on a creaky backyard swingset until it rocked in the dirt.  Slides.  Mother May I.  Olly olly oxen free.  Can’t you hear it.  Does a crisp fall evening tickle your memory?  Can you hear the leaves crunch under your feet as you rake them into a huge pile?  Do you anticipate the delightful feeling that comes when you sink into the “haystack” of leaves?

Bubbles.  The dog snaps at each one as you blow it through the tiny little wand in your bottle of bubbles.  Water balloons tossed through the air and lobbed hard at your ankles.  Soaked.  It’s a good feeling.  The lazy summer evening air is still hot and the water feels good.  Chlorine perfumes the air and mingles with the scent of sunscreen.  Cicadas sing in the trees.  Lemonade stands.  Firecrackers.  Roll out those lazy hazy crazy days of summer…

Damp earth.  Red Light/Green Light.  Jump rope. 

Down by the ocean, down by the sea…

The green is so vivid!  Baby animals are everywhere.  Birds sing again.  Bicycles down sidewalks and the wind in your hair as you fly past the mailboxes.  Wagons bouncing over clod hills.  Springtime afternoons after school hold dear memories…

Frost.  Snow.  Christmas carols and tree lots.  Making snow angels and playing Red Rover bundled thick in heavy parkas.  (they cushioned the fall too!)  King of the Mountain.  Men in Santa suits ringing bells in front of stores.  Hot Chocolate.  Paper Snowflakes.  Real Snowflakes.   Corncob pipes and ice skating.  Mittens, one always lost or left behind.  Heady spices of ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves.  Winter days squeeze the heart of my memories.  I love them all.

I read This Blog today and the memories came flooding back.  We did things that children today have never experienced.  I rode a bicycle without a helmet.  I felt the wind through my hair as I raced down streets with my arms crossed in front of me.  No hands!  I played Red Rover, Dodge Ball, King of the Mountain, and tackle football without “gear”.  I rollerskated on four wheeled skates and the only one I ever saw injured outside of a scratch or a bruise here or there was me.  Age fifteen.  I broke my wrist in a roller rink.  My kids don’t know what it is like to ride a bike down a street and have the wind whiste through their hair.  I feel kind of sorry for them.

You know, the only thing I ever regretted for my children was the lack of games like Red Rover and Dodge Ball and King of the Mountain.  You can’t play those games with just three or four kids.  It’s kind of hard even if all nine were playing (with one being two and one not even home anymore, that takes away that idea!) to get up a good game.  But now that I know they couldn’t anyway, I don’t feel so bad.  I think we’ll have to try to find a way to alter the games just a bit so that we can play them.  Just once even.  Maybe some day they’ll tell their children about the day they played Steal the Flag and jumped rope with grandma.

I think we need that day to be soon.  As it is, tomorrow I’ll buy bubbles.  Lorna and I will sit on the back step and blow bubbles.  I imagine Jenna, Andra, and Ethan will join us.  Sergeant will certainly be there and will probably try to eat our bubbles as fast as we blow them.  And maybe, just maybe, someday Lorna will be typing away on her own blog about how she remembers summer evenings blowing bubbles with mom and dad and giggling over Sergeant trying to keep up.

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