Childhood Memories

This week’s challenge for a header theme came up as I was finalizing plans to go visit my older sister to scan some photos that she has that I don’t.  I thought it would be a great opportunity, I thought it was uncanny timing.

But that would have been to easy now wouldn’t it Dear Reader? 

I was reflecting on my childhood and the many aspects, the ever so many memories followed by the memories that I hope I have helped create for my own children. 

Our lives were a bit different.  But there was one thing I know we shared.  One thing that, even though we may look at it a bit different, was a big deal in our childhoods.  Grass. 

Lawn grass, meadow grass, park grass, hayfield grass.  Grass.

My first thought was of my spending hours with my brother and then watching my children spend hours finding that perfect blade of grass to squawk.  Find a potentially good one, try it, its okay but, discard that one, look again. 

All that hunting and you’re tired so the grass becomes a thin green inviting mattress and you flop on down.  If you’re on your backside the grass cradles you so that you can watch the sky. 

Once we were keen on finding the best reed for the loudest strongest honk and now we are searching for the best cloud with the best shape.  One that goes from one certain shape to yet another distinct mentionable shape.  The first to see the whale that turns to an elephant that turns to the Indian on a horse.

Over on my belly and I can find all sorts of things in the grass right in front of my very nose.  Funny Suessian bugs.  Bizarre leaves and itty bitty flowers.  Oh, and look there’s clover.  I think I could find a four leaf clover, if I’m just patient… .  But beyond the clover are the daisies that grow in the grass.  Fingers fly, plucking the flowers.

The grass cradles again, this time her seat, while she braids the daisies together to make a crown.  They wear the crowns, break into the dress up clothes, swirly dresses over jeans and rubber boots.  Off fly the rubber boots, no socks?  Barefeet dancing on the grass covered dance floor. 

The kitties join them, chasing the hems of the skirts, mewing, jumping, getting scooped up.  Kissed and cuddled, on the grass in a heap again. 

It was where we played baseball, croquet, volleyball, dress up, dollies.  Where we read a good book, just stared at the grass, cut it, trimmed it.  On it we ran through the sprinkler, moved the sprinklers, raked it, tanned on it, dreamed on it.

Grass, the foundation of so many childhood memories.

The other participants are  FG,  Mac, Darla, Gail’s Man go see what they have chosen to use on their header for Childhood Memories.  I was a bit early with mine, so unless it is mid-day on Wednesday (Pacific Time), give them a moment eh?