Preparing for demolition
This 1950s wallpaper revealed.
The young boy’s heart, embedded on a wall.
No date for reference.
I got stuck in the 60s tonight. I watched one of my favorites: The Newlywed Game. All of them. On YouTube. I admired the bride’s hair: the big beehive ‘do. The mascara and eye shadow. The California lifestyle.
Do you remember that game? We would play it by the hour. You’d draw a chart, naming your choices of places to live, boys’ names (to marry), a car to drive and a career. I cannot remember the counting formula, perhaps one of my readers can. Anyway, count away and you’d find your destiny.
I think I always had choices of California, Florida, or … I don’t remember having any other! Maybe I chose Hawaii. But certainly not my home town.
I’m not sure of his profession, but it was the man’s profession, for sure.
I do not remember the rest. I’m sure a color and a car were significant.
I will always remember how I thought the best place in the world had to be California. I was definitely a California girl. In my dreams.
I’m 61. My dreams have changed. Oh sure, I have visited California. A Californian friend even stated that there is no other place in the world to live! But I do admit, i love my small village I returned to, I love my farm and I love (even more) my farmer, who makes life worthwhile and every day a priceless treasure! (Thank you, Ross).
Still, there is a little girl…and her little girl dreams….
It’s 34 degrees and sunny outside. The birds (blue jays mostly) are creating enormous havoc. See? I told you, “if we listen close enough, we can hear spring before we see it.”
My grandson is 4 and he said, “it must be spring, it’s SO WARM!” (40 degrees)
We celebrated with a map of Tyringham Cobble (complete, of course, with ninjas, Moby Dick, and castle…)
“I have made my world and it is a much better world than I ever saw on the outside.” –Louise Nevelson
I used this quote yesterday and it has resonated throughout the last 24 hours of my world. I live my life on the inside. I’ve always been an inside person. As a child I spent most of my days in my dream filled world: of dollies and babies as a young child, in my little tree stand (one really couldn’t describe it as a “tree house” as it was just a small platform framed in a crook of the tree in my front yard). I remember “running away” one day. I had a woven old basket purse of my mother’s, which I put extra underwear and socks. I intended to start my journey by crossing the meadow, only to be waylaid by the snake that lay across the path, and deciding it wasn’t such a good idea after all. I spent my early teen years playing with my Barbie dolls: I had Tammy, Barbie, Francie, Tutti, Paul McCartney (the only male doll). These dolls were my family, their house was a large flat board in my room, and had furnishings from old jewelry boxes, a small cast iron stove, and beds from longer boxes. It was a sad day at 14 when I felt that I had to put them away, I thought I was “too old” for such childish play.
I lived my life through books, not unlike Francie from “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.” Francie was always a favorite of mine. She wanted to be a writer, like me. Other books that I lived for were written by Agatha Christie, Victoria Holt, and Mary Stewart. There was something magical about their writings. I try to impress children to read. I tell them, “you can be anybody you want to be, travel anywhere you want to travel” just by reading. There is a whole world out there, via books.
I try to live my life simply. I try to do good for others. I designed a coffee shop just for this purpose. It worked for awhile, but economically it was a bust. Eventually it went the way of other small business’ here in America. No place for the American dream anymore.
I still live inside of my world. It is a much better place than the outside. I can live with my own opinions, I find others that are encouraging. I’m not sure that they live on the inside, but they seem to admire that I do.
I have only come to terms with this recently, encouraged by my mother, who told me, “you always have lived inside your own world.” Not a bad place to be…
Little Miss! We sat down to feast on a beautiful chicken dinner, very carefully prepared by my son, and she ate oh, maybe 2 bites of salad, one of potato and I’m not real sure about the chicken, but she did make sure she ate the contents of the dill pickle. Then she ran off to play (after sitting, standing, moving to her daddy’s lap, moving off her daddy’s lap, making use of the bathroom facilities, and a few other distracting things with which to skip her dinner). I caught up with her eating her own Thanksgiving dinner with her Barbie dolls.