It’s May 25th, and I went shopping for flowers today. There were US flags, and everything you can imagine red, white, and blue in anticipation of 4th of July. (People – can we get through Memorial Day first?) Sheesh.
I sat on my front lawn for almost two hours planting what felt like 700,000 purple petunias and not once checked my phone, but instead just enjoyed the time with my hands in the dirt and the lack of any noise. Getting my hands dirty planting flowers always makes me remember my Dad, because he loved helping me this time of year, and he showed me how to do it perfectly. I haven’t planted anything in three years, so many memories came flooding back. So many of those memories were of my childhood.
We lived on a corner lot in an 800-square-foot bungalow, and although I know that my brother, sister, and I all had three completely different childhood experiences (which is something I don’t think you realize until you’re “middle-aged”), there were some things I’m sure we’d all remember exactly the same way – like the sound of Dad’s pickup truck pulling up next to the house on Elmira Street when it was still a dirt road. And who could forget the music from the ice cream truck on summer nights coming down Hemingway Street? The sounds of the St. Robert Fair in September, the slam of the wooden gate at Julie and Debbie Atkinson’s house, the squealing tires of a friend’s bike, followed by it being dropped onto the sidewalk, and the sound of footsteps up to the back door of our little house, followed by the singing of whoever’s name the friend wanted to play outside with.
No one knocked. Rarely was a call made to invite us out to play. We just ran up to our friends’ homes and sang, “Rita, Rita!, Julie! Julie!” Some of you might think this is crazy, but… I know some of you know exactly the tune I’m talking about, and you sang it too!
I think I’m going to find someone this week to sing to. I’m not going to knock, or call, or email, or even text. I’m just going to show up. I won’t ring the doorbell. I’m going to bring back a little “old fashionedness” to my summer, and I’ll just sing their name. But don’t ask whose door yet; it’s still a mystery even to me 😉
I watch so many of the younger generation behind me bringing back many homesteading hobbies like gardening and canning, and ways of providing and caring for their families. Let’s help them out and bring back some of the fun things we did as kids, too! Our stupid phones have all but replaced our imaginations. So, this summer, I think I’ll jump in a rain puddle, sing my friends’ names at their doors, hang clothes out to dry, go on a picnic, and play in the dirt with my friends. (Oh wait, I did that today with Diane and Zhela.)
I’m determined to go back to the good old days… or at least have fun pretending.
Popsickle, anyone?
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