You Want to hear about Me?
I've been tagged to write about five things I miss about childhood... (This is the second tag in a month: I'm warning all potential taggers that this would likely be my limit in any given month, assuming any more come my way.) What do I miss about my childhood? I rarely miss anything. These are more a list of things I remember with pleasure from my childhood: 1. The smell of something being scorched in the kitchen. Always reminds me of my mother, whose motto for food preparation was "If it takes 40 minutes at 200, it'll take 20 minutes at 400!" I was fourteen before I realized that I actually quite liked tapioca pudding: I'd just never tasted it un-scorched before. My mother always had plenty of time for us kids; for peripherals like food prep and housework, she had very little patience. 2. Snuggling in bed with my grandparents for that 6 a.m. cup of tea, specially on cold winter mornings in the still dark. I was raised in an extended family. After my mother was widowed (at age 25), with three children (of whom, at four years old, I was the eldest), my grandparents built a duplex. We lived in one side, my gran, grandad, and aunt lived in the other side. While the adults always treated the homes as separate dwellings, we children had free reign of both homes. I'd hear my grandmother get up in the morning, and I'd be out of my bed and over to their side, clambering into bed with my grandad. When gran returned with the teatray, there'd be a cup of very milky tea for me. 3. Trees, fields, sand, river. We lived on the last street of a village. Behind us was a wood, which we called "The Forest", then a field (tobacco and potatoes), then a river with a high sandy "cliff". Lots of time spent roaming barefoot, climbing trees, making forts, jumping down the bank to the river -, which we did not go in, as everyone knew there were eels in there - (I think my mother originated this rumor, the better to keep us out of it), spying on the tobacco pickers from the safety of the woods - with whom we were not to speak, as they were "rough". They were pretty scarey. 4. Chasing the garbage truck. Yup, us, the flies, and the village dogs... A hoard of kids racing barefoot down the pea-gravel and asphalt street after the garbage truck, which was just a giant pick-up with wooden slat sides. Can't remember the appeal, but remember finding it very exciting. It always got away on us. 5. Getting lost in imaginery games. The hoard of us would play long, involved, constantly evolving games for hours and hours in the summers. I would, in my mind, "become" my role, lose all sense of time and immediate place. Fantastic. I remember, too, when I lost this ability; I'd have been about eleven, and all the kids were playing cowboys and Indians, and suddenly, I just couldn't "be" that Indian princess. I was just a kid with a bent-stick bow, and I was bored. I regretted it immediately, but it was irretrievable. Now I have to do the chain letter thing. Remove the blog at #1 from the following list and bump every one up one place; add your blog's name in the #5 spot; link to each of the other blogs for the desired cross-pollination effect. 1. Redhead Mommy 2. Baby Lauren 3. Babbling Bente 4. Sharkey Malarkey 5. It's Not all Mary Poppins Next: select new friends to add to the pollen count. (No one is obliged to participate!!) I select: Bill Q snaars