So here's some things that I still think about when I drift back in time and want to feel comforted....
I had the pleasure of growing up in a neighborhood and school where my cousins and aunt and uncle also lived. I also lived in a neighborhood where no on moved....ever. We all grew up together. And I mean GREW UP together. We ran home when the street lamps popped on and everyone else's mother had license to yell at you if you were in their yard on in front of their house instead of at home. Naturally, this never happened to me....but it did happen.
Every Friday night, my Aunt Mary Ellen and Uncle Pat held "open house". This meant that whoever wanted to could "stop and visit". They'd be on their front porch. Any and all combination of friends and family would sit and visit for a time throughout the evening...even if it was just for 10 minutes or for a few hours. They were always there hosting. Bring a dish, bring some pop, or just show up. Every Friday...rain or shine...plenty of parking in the church lot next door.
Fireflies.
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The sound of the screen door slamming in the kitchen. That was one of my favorite sounds growing up. It was a solid sound, one of connection. It meant I was safe inside my house. When I was in the house and heard it, it meant that someone had left, but more importantly, it could mean that someone was home...and that was even better.
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Mom's Sunday dinners-typically fried chicken or roast beef with potatoes.
Sneaking into the hallway to watch the Dick Van Dyke show and the Dean Martin Show. My Dad had to know I was in there. He just had to, right?
Discovering a bird's nest, or a cocoon, or some other incredible evidence that the animal kingdom was alive and well and we were witnesses to it.
Burying one of the myriad dead animals that the kids in the neighborhood brought to our house for me to bury. This was a solemn occasion. We would find a box, bury it, say some words, and then discuss with great detail where that soul was, if it was with Jesus, in Heaven, what it was doing, etc. Most of the kids were Catholic so purgatory was mentioned a lot. Sometimes the discussions were quite heated...who knew what kinds of sins those dead birds had to repent of?....Quite spiritual...
Walking to the candy store with some coins. Magic. I can still see that big candy case with the penny candy, the colors, the smells, the wooden plank floors, the rows of canned goods, the cash register that seemed so big and tall off the floor...sheer magic...
Hiding in a big shrub or bush. If it was spring, the fragrance of the flowers would be wonderful. I remember hiding in a lilac shrub and watching my aunt's mother brush her long gray hair...I was mesmerized by that vision...I remember hiding in a shrub and contemplating how babies were formed...I pictured them forming in a little metal mechanism, sorta wispy, like when you turn on a cotton candy machine (how food-oriented was I?)....that's how I figured we all started....
Sitting on Dad's lap on Sunday mornings, my head against his chest, listening to his heart beat while in the other room, my sister regaled mother with her Saturday evening escapades...
Warm windy afternoons, snow drifts over the back fence...
My brother David...first voice in the morning, last voice at night....I'm pretty certain Jesus said, "Look, I can't be with you all the time Debbie, so here's David, he's less than a year behind you....play nice."