Prose snapshots

We were always out walking around the neighborhood. She let me collect pine cones along the way and keep them under the stroller. We would stop so often I can’t believe we actually got anywhere.

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“If I go down there and find them, you’re going to be in BIG trouble!” She asked me to find olives or something in the basement refrigerator, and didn’t believe me when I told her they weren’t there. Luckily when she went down there they were still missing.

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Mom and Dad would leave together in the mornings to go to work. Then they would pull around front of the house and out the front windows I would put my finger to my nose. It was our own goodbye sign. They would smile and raise their fingers through the car window. I would watch the car all the way down the street. It took me a while every day to stop being sad about them leaving.

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We lived in the 1:24 inch scale, driving our plastic hot rods around banisters and through the legs of tables. I raced mine down the long hallway carpet turned track, and Brian parked his under the dresser. The excitement was real but the crashes didn’t hurt.

~ by doug on April 29, 2008.