elderberrywine (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
elderberrywine) wrote2017-09-19 07:57 pm
elderberrywine) wrote2017-09-19 07:57 pm
OK so I can't even tell you how.
But one thing lead to another, and I started flash-backing to my childhood.
But seriously it was what it was and it was the best.
Being born in 1951, the '50s were my childhood years. And you couldn't do better than that.
Technically, I wasn't born in Palm Springs, but my parents returned there when I was 2 months old, so for the next 25 years, that's all I knew. We moved into my childhood home when I was 2 years old (all 3 of my sisters were born while we lived there) and my 89-years old mom lives there yet. We got a big lot (sand was cheap) and my Dad was in the construction biz, so eventually we had a big house.
But the summers I remember (125 F, mind you) consisted of my mom kicking us outside (her reading time, mind you). Us 4 girls? in our panties. Why wear more? We roamed our backyard, blonde hair, blue eyes, and brown as berries every one. I invented fantastical plots (being the oldest) and we buried treasure, built castles in the mud under the cottonwood tree, climbed up the tree to escape the witch, and generally rampaged all over the backyard until Mom let us back in.
At which, of course, it was time to settle down with the latest treasure from the library and dream some more.
Do children have lives like this anymore? And what a loss that is.
But seriously it was what it was and it was the best.
Being born in 1951, the '50s were my childhood years. And you couldn't do better than that.
Technically, I wasn't born in Palm Springs, but my parents returned there when I was 2 months old, so for the next 25 years, that's all I knew. We moved into my childhood home when I was 2 years old (all 3 of my sisters were born while we lived there) and my 89-years old mom lives there yet. We got a big lot (sand was cheap) and my Dad was in the construction biz, so eventually we had a big house.
But the summers I remember (125 F, mind you) consisted of my mom kicking us outside (her reading time, mind you). Us 4 girls? in our panties. Why wear more? We roamed our backyard, blonde hair, blue eyes, and brown as berries every one. I invented fantastical plots (being the oldest) and we buried treasure, built castles in the mud under the cottonwood tree, climbed up the tree to escape the witch, and generally rampaged all over the backyard until Mom let us back in.
At which, of course, it was time to settle down with the latest treasure from the library and dream some more.
Do children have lives like this anymore? And what a loss that is.
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