Sundays When We Were Kids

 

 

 

 

It’s Sunday and lately I’ve been trying not to work on Sundays.

Saturdays either.

So yesterday, in a house with five children and seven adults, I did these things:

  • Lay on a dock with a four-year-old, gazing down at a world of little fish wiggling their hipless hips in water the color of bright blue Jell-O. (That’s what you see in the photo, Berry Blue Jell-O with genuine Gummie Fish trapped inside.   
  • Went out in a little motor boat driven by a first grader.
  • Took pictures with my  crappy little camera, the crappy one rather than the good one just in case it landed in the drink.
  • Made Smoky Black Bean Soup, the killer Weight Watchers recipe that takes only 20 minutes to throw together if you have frozen corn, a couple of cups of black beans and a jar of salsa in the house. (Just throw in  dash of cumin and a sneeze of chili-powder and you’re done!)

I also:

  • Underlined a bunch of passages in my summer reading assignment.
  • Wrote many cheery tales in my diary.
  • Fell asleep doing the crossword  and, most important….
  • Swam for a solid hour in that lake that was every bit as cool as the Jell-O of our childhood, half of that time towing the small child I had started the day with who kept saying “TT your hair looks crazy!” Turns out those wild curls from my babyhood are still with me, even after all that cruel yanking, blow-drying and flat-ironing.

At some point in your life you suddenly notice the line of your recent life start to curve, then reach clear around and touch the line of your life at its beginning, when you too were a very young child just starting out and every single day was like a weekend day.

me at three in a play one long-ago summer


my grandchildren having their own weekend summer fun

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