Rhonda triggered a memory.
Her post of the letter from her mother made me feel so good. It was the little things that reminded me of my own childhood memories and fun. The memory of playing with paperdolls that had escaped to the deep recesses of memory arose with the excitement of cutting those paper outfits out to go on the flat doll.
The pancakes in her mom's letter triggered the memory of the fun of making mudpies in a frisbee. Sometimes those mudpies were laced with mashed plums set out to harden. I remember once even ruining a blouse with the so imagined delicious dish. This memory also brought back several memories that involved something very important: the playhouse.
My cousin had outgrown the cute little house and it was passed on to us. Us being me and my brother - he did not play house, but it did hold tricycles and such. It was also our lunch spot everyday one summer. My mom would bring our lunch to us, usually a sandwich, and a can of nectarine juice. I hate that drink to this day! The playhouse was white with blue trim. It had an eave that cut down across the front and a double door. We would close the bottom and open the top and pretend we had a restaurant and everyone wanted our pies!
My mom kept a few kids at home rather than working outside the home. Sometimes the backyard was so full of kids close to our ages, nothing but fun was to be had. I remember a kid my age named Greg. We were probably all of 7 at the time. We were "playing" like we were husband and wife, we both worked and took our tricycles home (down the long side walk in the back yard) to the play house. He did not arrive though, he took a turn around the playhouse straight to the swingset behind the playhouse. I waited on the front, finally he came around from the back, and I stood, placed my hands on my hips and said "Where the H*&L(my first cuss word) have you been?" I was just playing, but somehow my mom did not find that very funny at all! Needless to say, that ended my playing that afternoon.
That wasn't the best of my days but I can't help but to crack up at how growny I remember thinking I was!
One more playhouse memory though. As this weekend has been chilly with the remnants of winter, but bright with the promise of spring there is the memory of the annual escape to the playhouse my brother and I would make. We would bundle up near the end of winter, usually with snow still on the ground, and would quietly open the door of the playhouse, and ever so softly step in. Once both of us were in and ready we would SLAM the door as hard as we could. From the sides of the wall studs and ceiling hundreds and hundreds of moths, startled awake, would fly frantically all about us. Some might find that creepy, but to us they were just plain butterflies, and to be in the middle of all those fluttering wings was the best thing in the world as a kid.
What warm thoughts do you have as the weekend comes to a close?