It’s been a few days since I’ve updated my blog. Even my daughter keeps checking. She told me last night she went on, “PamelaHammonds dot Dogspot dot com.” Lucky for her it’s bookmarked on our computer, so she didn’t actually end up on a dogspot.
I guess since she’s fresh on my mind, I’ll mention that the other day she asked me what I used to play with when I was a little girl. I’m pretty sure I didn’t do this:
She says the horse is flying, but I’m not so sure. Quite a few toys in the house end up in various stages of bondage, and that is after she has attached hairbows to their fur and bracelets and pony-tail holders to their appendages. I think it’s time to spring the piñata-horse from its dangling place.
No, when I was little we lived in the country and our only next-door neighbor had two children who were the same ages and genders as my older brother and sister. So until I turned six and had a new baby sister to pester, I was pretty much left to fend for myself. I remember playing outside with the dog, picking flowers or playing in the snow. Other times I’m sure I was my mother’s shadow. That might be why I like to cook and bake and was the only daughter who learned how to sew.
When I got a bit older, a bicycle gave me all the freedom I needed. About a mile down the road lived two best friends, Connie and Brenda, who let me intrude on their friendship. We climbed trees, formed a club, baked cookies, did each other’s hair and spent many hours traipsing through the woods across the street. At some point, they told me about sex, and it took me a long time before I believed they knew what they were talking about.
We also went on long bike rides together. Even though we were no older than nine or ten, we’d take off and be gone all day. Too bad the world we live in today is so different. We went to school together from third grade to college and are still friends today. Connie now lives in Austin and Brenda lives in Indianapolis. Although it’s been years since I’ve seen either of them at our class reunion, Christmas cards and email keep us in touch with each other. Good friends—unlike flying horses—are worth hanging on to.