When I was eight I doodled anything and everything. The more color, the better and although repetitive doodles were good training, they had the tendency to tire me quickly.
When I was eight I was mommy to my baby dolls, Nicole, Tiffany and Jessica - the three most beautiful names I had known. They were good babies with real-ish food and diapers, if promoted. Although this modern baby doll technology was at my fingertips, I sometimes opted to ignore the opportunity as I had a greater appreciation for cleanliness.
When I was eight I would constantly move my bedroom furniture around as if I were staging the next real estate showing. My mom was not always happy about this.
When I was eight I would play for hours in my little playhouse in the backyard. This hiding place was built by my dad with contributions (both verbal and material) from family and friends. The project, which was scheduled to take a few weekends stretched into 3 months, however the hours spent enjoying this space were countless. When I close my eyes I can step inside and smell the afternoon breeze blowing through the screened windows; I feel the linoleum under my feet; I brush my shoulder against the wooden paneling; I immerse my hands in the running water made possible by a garden hose hook up. And last but not least, I climb the chain link fence behind the house, eventually perching myself on the front side of the hot shingled roof, taking in the view and leaving solely by a 6 foot leap to the soft, freshly mowed blanket of grass below.
When I was eight, I would listen to music that sailed me away to another land. Often the songs were from The Sound of Music. Sometimes I was a deer, other days I was one of the children but mostly I was Maria.
When I was eight I traveled floor to floor, in multiple apartments and hotels all over the world from the comfort of my bedroom sliding door closet. Different languages and accents were spoken, at best of course, and maintenance serviced the button panel from time to time, due to frequent usage. Only few friends were invited to my traveling elevator as I knew not all would appreciate the adventure.
When I was eight my mode of transportation was via my yellow banana seat bicycle. I could pretty much go anywhere in the world, ummm neighborhood.
When I was eight my biggest worry was whether or not we having liver and onions for dinner.
When I was eight it was 1979.
When I was eight I was mommy to my baby dolls, Nicole, Tiffany and Jessica - the three most beautiful names I had known. They were good babies with real-ish food and diapers, if promoted. Although this modern baby doll technology was at my fingertips, I sometimes opted to ignore the opportunity as I had a greater appreciation for cleanliness.
When I was eight I would constantly move my bedroom furniture around as if I were staging the next real estate showing. My mom was not always happy about this.
When I was eight I would play for hours in my little playhouse in the backyard. This hiding place was built by my dad with contributions (both verbal and material) from family and friends. The project, which was scheduled to take a few weekends stretched into 3 months, however the hours spent enjoying this space were countless. When I close my eyes I can step inside and smell the afternoon breeze blowing through the screened windows; I feel the linoleum under my feet; I brush my shoulder against the wooden paneling; I immerse my hands in the running water made possible by a garden hose hook up. And last but not least, I climb the chain link fence behind the house, eventually perching myself on the front side of the hot shingled roof, taking in the view and leaving solely by a 6 foot leap to the soft, freshly mowed blanket of grass below.
When I was eight, I would listen to music that sailed me away to another land. Often the songs were from The Sound of Music. Sometimes I was a deer, other days I was one of the children but mostly I was Maria.
When I was eight I traveled floor to floor, in multiple apartments and hotels all over the world from the comfort of my bedroom sliding door closet. Different languages and accents were spoken, at best of course, and maintenance serviced the button panel from time to time, due to frequent usage. Only few friends were invited to my traveling elevator as I knew not all would appreciate the adventure.
When I was eight my mode of transportation was via my yellow banana seat bicycle. I could pretty much go anywhere in the world, ummm neighborhood.
When I was eight my biggest worry was whether or not we having liver and onions for dinner.
When I was eight it was 1979.
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