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We played night games until dusk and did fireworks the whole month of July. The park just up the street was perfect for playing "Three Billy Goats Gruff" and Dad made the best Troll. We liked to practice softball on the lawn. The flowering plum tree was home plate, the edge of the sandbox was first, the drinking fountain was second, and the bench was third. Amy and I usually got stuck in the outfield where we'd make clover flower crowns and talk about anything at all until it was our turn to bat.
Maybe it's because life was simpler, because my best friends lived next door, or because the farthest I could run before my Dad could catch me was up the street to the park, but every memory of that house is magical. Even with a Dorothy Hamill wedge haircut, life was perfect.
6 comments:
davis park. love that place.
I certainly wouldn't say no to a writing workshop---do you start these with specific prompts, or just . . . write? I want to compile them in a book. I would read it nightly to ensure sweet dreams.
What great memories. Told in true Martha style.
I love reading your blog. You write so well, obviously many others agree with me. So how do you know Amanda Quist? I grew up with her.
Sheena Easton. . . you need to come on tour and bring your creative talents out East. . . that is what I have decided! I love your blog!!!!
I love your blog, dear Martha. You are an amazing writer. Hope to see you soon at your cute little house.
And you know Emily Anderson Becker? Small world.
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