It started out like any other summer day in southern California; hot, sunny. I'd like to say it was a gorgeous day with a bright blue sky, beckoning kids to run and play, and fill their lungs with fresh air; it wasn't. Remember, I said this was in southern California. It was hot, it was sunny, but the sky had it's usual sickly grey tinge, and if you decided to run and play for too long, your lungs would burn for the rest of the day.
I didn't wake up that fateful day thinking of ways to do away with my sister or anything like that. She was older, and therefore, bigger and stronger than me. Oh don't get me wrong, there were times that I wondered if there were ways to get rid of obnoxious older sisters, but this wasn't one of them.
It all began easily enough when we went to play at our best friends' house. Rene, Philip and Tracy were siblings who lived just down the road from us. We practically lived at their house whenever school was out. In the middle of the endless city that is the Los Angeles area, they somehow managed to secure a gigantically large yard. I'm not joking, we lived on a lot the same size as theirs, except that three houses shared our space along one long drive-way, as well as a huge field behind the three homes. In this way, we lived a wildly free country like upbringing in the midst of staggering suburbia.
Our favorite past time often revolved in some way around digging huge holes. We were determined little kids, we didn't just dig little holes and give up. Oh no, not us. A hole wasn't big enough for us unless you could get a few kids hidden in it to usher surprise attacks on unsuspecting passersby.
Pairing deep holes with one of our other favorites, the tire swing, was a unanimous hit with each and every one of us. Entire days were spent digging this hole large enough to fit a couple of kids down inside. When the hole was finally large enough to squeeze three of us into, and at least up to my arm pits, we deemed it ready. Let the games begin! Oh yes, that was a glorious hole! We made up quite a few exciting games with that one. In one of these games, four of us would run around in circles while the fifth person got up onto the roof of the play house (our traditional launching spot for the tire swing), and swung down at maximum velocity, trying to hit the four on the ground. Yes! You heard right. The object of this thoroughly crazy game was to run around in circles and dive into the hole before the person on the swing could plow into you with the force of a speeding locomotive. The only thing shocking about this game is that no children were maimed for life. That great game led to one other that we enjoyed. We would take turns getting into the hole, and the object of this game was to pop up out of the hole right before the tire swing came whizzing through the air overhead. I can still remember the sound of the swing whistling slightly with its great speed as it passed by, and how menacing the dangling feet of the person on the swing suddenly seemed. We had great fun with that game for a few brief moments, before someone, I think it was Tracy, got hit in the face. Her usually laid back Mom came out to ascertain our wild shenanigans. Impossibly, her face turned the exact same color as the blood flowing down Tracy's face. Before we knew it, our beloved new toy was now covered back over again, and we were warned quite sternly, not to dig anymore holes.
One of our other ways of playing with holes involved large pieces of plywood. We were all great Star Wars fans, so we had all seen how the good guys would come out of underground hide-outs in order to make surprise attacks on the enemy. One day, we decided to dig a shallow hole large enough to lay down in. Philip, being the evil master-mind to most of our antics, got to go first. He laid down in the hole, and we were instructed to put the wood over him. About this time, Rene and my sister, Tammy, came out to see what crazy thing we were up to. Philip leaped from his hiding place with a wild roar the likes of which I can only describe as deranged mountain man mixed with grizzly bear. Even Tracy and I were not quite ready for this great show of loud surprise, and all four of us went running madly away. When we each had recovered our wits, we were more than eager to try our hand at this latest game. My older sister Tammy was the lucky one to go next. She got down in the hole, only this time we dug enough dirt over the top to completely hide the wood from view. She could've pushed the wood off at any time to get out, but for all intensive purposes, she was literally buried alive. Unfortunately, my friends' dad came out to check on us at about that time, so I never got my chance to try out the hole. We were quickly sent home with a phone call placed to my parents, and my friends were forced to fill this hole in also.
That was at least a temporary end to our somewhat successful career as hole diggers.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Monday, March 23, 2009
My First Love!
I was a tom boy growing up. Oh not one of those over-all wearing short-boy-hair-cut type of tom boys. My mother would never allow that, but I preferred playing outside in trees and forts and giant holes in the ground to any quiet girly play. I thoroughly enjoyed playing star wars with my best friend, Tracy (she WAS an over-all wearing, short-boy hair cut kind of girl), and I had positively mastered the fine art of tree climbing.
We had the perfect climbing tree in our backyard, a walnut tree. At a slight angle, the trunk was perfect for shimmying up. It was with great pride that I learned to run up the trunk of my tree. I had even learned to walk across branches tight-rope style in order to reach higher branches. What pleasure I had in looking over the roof of my families home to eaves-drop on the happenings of my neighborhood. You can imagine the horror and dismay on my poor Mother's face when she first caught me at such heights. I must admit this only added to the excitement and mystique of the tree in my eyes. For surely if my Mother, who always seemed very girly to me, thought it was scary and dangerous, then it must be VERY exciting and fun indeed!
I loved everything about my tree, and hadn't even realized how much I had missed it until I happened upon a walnut tree in adult-hood. Like primordial instincts racing back, the very smell of the tree brought me back to that other life when I was free as only a small child can be on hot summer days. My skin grew damp, the lights went dim and I began to shake. When I came to, my nose was glued firmly to the trunk of the tree. My desire to climb this tree was so intense that it took every ounce of will power to draw me back to the present. That, and my tiny baby wriggling uncomfortably in my arms. Even looking down at my precious son almost wasn't enough. I had visions of indoctrinating him into this fine art at the impossibly young age of four months. How proud I would be, sitting on the upper-most limbs of this beauty of a tree with him in my arms! But alas, my husband was there, as he always seems to be when I am at the brink of losing all self respecting dignity. He's, of course, an accountant, and the only reason I haven't been locked away yet. In his logical and serious consequences sort of way, he is almost always able to talk me out of my reverees down memory lane.
Surely I should be outgrowing this affair with my beloved tree by now, after all, I'm not a child anymore...heck, I'm not even in my twenties. I can still feel the breeze blowing in my hair as sit in my "nest" at the top of the tree, staring down on the neighborhood, and taunting my baby sister who was too chicken to climb with me to such heights. I can even remember the exhilarating rush of fear when my hand or foot would slip, and I would barely catch a branch in time to avoid falling. What ecstasy it was to be free from the bonds of parental rule if only momentarily.
It's been over twenty years since I was that intrepid little tree climber, and now I have four fearless climbers of my own. Oh none of them has yet been entangled by the enchanting love of a tree, but I have had to talk several down from roof-tops, and off of fences, balcony railings, out of rafters and other such high locals. I now understand the look that adorned my own dear Mother's face when she found me at extreme heights.
I'm feeling a bit nostalgic today. Looking around my yard, I can't help but notice all the empty space just begging to be planted with grass, or flowers, or maybe...a tree. I wonder how late my local nursery is open?
We had the perfect climbing tree in our backyard, a walnut tree. At a slight angle, the trunk was perfect for shimmying up. It was with great pride that I learned to run up the trunk of my tree. I had even learned to walk across branches tight-rope style in order to reach higher branches. What pleasure I had in looking over the roof of my families home to eaves-drop on the happenings of my neighborhood. You can imagine the horror and dismay on my poor Mother's face when she first caught me at such heights. I must admit this only added to the excitement and mystique of the tree in my eyes. For surely if my Mother, who always seemed very girly to me, thought it was scary and dangerous, then it must be VERY exciting and fun indeed!
I loved everything about my tree, and hadn't even realized how much I had missed it until I happened upon a walnut tree in adult-hood. Like primordial instincts racing back, the very smell of the tree brought me back to that other life when I was free as only a small child can be on hot summer days. My skin grew damp, the lights went dim and I began to shake. When I came to, my nose was glued firmly to the trunk of the tree. My desire to climb this tree was so intense that it took every ounce of will power to draw me back to the present. That, and my tiny baby wriggling uncomfortably in my arms. Even looking down at my precious son almost wasn't enough. I had visions of indoctrinating him into this fine art at the impossibly young age of four months. How proud I would be, sitting on the upper-most limbs of this beauty of a tree with him in my arms! But alas, my husband was there, as he always seems to be when I am at the brink of losing all self respecting dignity. He's, of course, an accountant, and the only reason I haven't been locked away yet. In his logical and serious consequences sort of way, he is almost always able to talk me out of my reverees down memory lane.
Surely I should be outgrowing this affair with my beloved tree by now, after all, I'm not a child anymore...heck, I'm not even in my twenties. I can still feel the breeze blowing in my hair as sit in my "nest" at the top of the tree, staring down on the neighborhood, and taunting my baby sister who was too chicken to climb with me to such heights. I can even remember the exhilarating rush of fear when my hand or foot would slip, and I would barely catch a branch in time to avoid falling. What ecstasy it was to be free from the bonds of parental rule if only momentarily.
It's been over twenty years since I was that intrepid little tree climber, and now I have four fearless climbers of my own. Oh none of them has yet been entangled by the enchanting love of a tree, but I have had to talk several down from roof-tops, and off of fences, balcony railings, out of rafters and other such high locals. I now understand the look that adorned my own dear Mother's face when she found me at extreme heights.
I'm feeling a bit nostalgic today. Looking around my yard, I can't help but notice all the empty space just begging to be planted with grass, or flowers, or maybe...a tree. I wonder how late my local nursery is open?
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