Farm Girl
Today I worked out at my parent's house, helping them prepare for the impending kitchen remodel that is so big it is requiring us to move just about everything we own to various locations on the property. This is complicated by the fact that all of those places were already full, thus forcing us to move everything out of one spot, fill it with new stuff, and move the displaced stuff somewhere else, and so on. All this moving is not only unearthing a great deal of dust and dead bugs, but through the moving of old boxes and searching for what to save and what to throw away, it upheaved thousands of memories.
My childhood was incredibly happy. My two younger sisters and I are close enough in age that our interests were never far from each other, and our toys were a collection in sets of threes. Playmobile and American Girl Dolls were two of the most prominent and coveted playthings, followed closely by Breyer horses, and, I am sorry to say, Barbies. Boxes and boxes of these treasures remain, hermetically sealed by my mother to save for "the grandchildren" ("the grandchildren" became a priority by the time I was thirteen, and my sisters still talk about being jealous that the nonexistent grandchildren got our toys, learning more quickly than most to resent their children). To look through the boxes was to remember the hours we spent with the dolls and the friends who shared our passion. Those girls' dolls are packed away too, replaced by horses, boys, and college. We are no longer playmates: we are nurses, missionaries, equestrians, nannies, scholars, musicians, and growing up. But for today it was nice to remember; nice to sit on a tail gate of the truck as dad drove from the shed, past the horses, to the garage and back again. Nice to play with our old dog who used to chew our toys in her puppy enthusiasm. Nice to see that my sisters are still my favorite people and that playing with them is still the most fun. And nicest to know that we are still happy; that the kitchen, like so much else, will soon be new; that my youngest sister will soon be in college, but that our memories will always be the kind that carry us farther forward.
My childhood was incredibly happy. My two younger sisters and I are close enough in age that our interests were never far from each other, and our toys were a collection in sets of threes. Playmobile and American Girl Dolls were two of the most prominent and coveted playthings, followed closely by Breyer horses, and, I am sorry to say, Barbies. Boxes and boxes of these treasures remain, hermetically sealed by my mother to save for "the grandchildren" ("the grandchildren" became a priority by the time I was thirteen, and my sisters still talk about being jealous that the nonexistent grandchildren got our toys, learning more quickly than most to resent their children). To look through the boxes was to remember the hours we spent with the dolls and the friends who shared our passion. Those girls' dolls are packed away too, replaced by horses, boys, and college. We are no longer playmates: we are nurses, missionaries, equestrians, nannies, scholars, musicians, and growing up. But for today it was nice to remember; nice to sit on a tail gate of the truck as dad drove from the shed, past the horses, to the garage and back again. Nice to play with our old dog who used to chew our toys in her puppy enthusiasm. Nice to see that my sisters are still my favorite people and that playing with them is still the most fun. And nicest to know that we are still happy; that the kitchen, like so much else, will soon be new; that my youngest sister will soon be in college, but that our memories will always be the kind that carry us farther forward.
posted by Cate at 3:10 AM
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