Traveling to swimming lessons in the back of covered pick-up trucks while sitting on tippy little chairs, (going the back way, of course). Pool drenched towels, the sting of chlorine in our eyes and the smell of chemicals tangled up in our hair always came along for the ride home. Some times trips (to who knows where) began with us climbing into the way back, piling in to sit two to a seat, or riding on the hump. Always sandwiched in the Pinto with the windows rolled all the way down. Fun was sure to be had.
Beaches {with metal slides that brunt your skin} where under-water conversations were held, under-water handstands perfected, under-water games of "Name That Tune" were played by banging two submerged rocks together, and the skill of holding-your-breath-under-water was mastered. There was sand between toes, buried treasure to search for, collections of clam shells and rocks and the occasional "seaweed" proudly displayed on towels. Sandcastles everywhere. Rafts, ropes, deep ends, diving boards, swims across the lake and inflatable boats. Cream soda. The smell of sun-warmed baby oil cooking my fair skin.
The monkey bars, the eagle's nest, the blue merry-go-round you pumped and pulled with all your might, skin scorching slides. Tether ball (how exactly is that game played)? Scampering in a field that seem to be as endless as a summertime recess. Rolling down grassy hills. "Mama had a baby", do you like butter?, Scatter the seeds now make a wish. Chanting "Time to go in" when bells rang, then laughing, knowing our day on the playground was ruleless and the bell had no control over us.
Riding seahorses, snails, dolphins, horses, tigers and ducks. Playing tennis and t-ball. Doing backflips. Swinging. Higher. And higher. And higher still, attempting to tickle the clouds with my bare feet. Stealing away into the woods to tease the King. Pennies in the sandbox. That blasted flesh melting metal. King of the A-frame. The teepee Cheif.
Bicycle rides that lasted for hours and hours to end up in places close to home. Trips to Johnson's to buy things packaged in white boxes with black letters containing items such a COOKIES, MACARONI & CHEESE and CHIPS, New York Seltzer's water (Black Cherry was the best) and donuts if it was Wednesday or Saturday. Candy cigarettes. Thinking a mile was not that far. Adventures on the River Road, to the Pioneer Museum, biking on the Creamery road to get to Veteran's Park. Dead Man's curve. Scraped up knees. Banged up elbows. Walking the tracks. Bravely passing trees you swear came to life at dusk and skirting the yard with the shed where missing pets were rumoured to be kept. Believing stories of the things that lived in vacant homes always pedaling faster to get by quick.
Sleep overs in campers and tents. Climbing antennas and walking on roof tops. Staying up till dawn. Sleeping mornings away. Weekends and weekdays spent at camp grounds, movie theaters, the Cedar Mall, friends homes or all of the above. Days and days of skillessly played billiards while sweet child played over and over and over. Pet Cemetery. Sleep Away Camp. Dirty Dancing. Stories being written in old notebooks with dull pencils while sipping Scwan's drink mix. Chatting on picnic tables counting cars, hoping for signs. Going for walks. Lots and lots of walks. Harmless prank phone calls. Talks on moon lit streets. Hand holding. Ten o'clock curfew. First kisses under star-speckled skies.
Oh, Summertime, you have come back bringing with you, your sweet memories of days gone bye, your familiar scents and sounds, the simple pleasures and I am delighted to have you here with me. I do hope you plan to stay a while because, Tag...you're it.
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