With Dave being MIA this week my plan was to do the usual home alone routine. That is, to stay up late wasting time online until I'm too tired to lay awake and hear all the creepy, big-guy breaking in the house noises. You know the creak, that creak, the machete being drug through the kitchen creak, really, really, don't want to hear that. I much rather be so exhausted that they can get to me in my sleep. Fight or flight, hmmm, really not a choice I want to have to make!
As I began my ritual of wasting good time, which, by the way, I am AMAZING at, I opened up my gmail.
And guess what.
My childhood friend that shared many, many, long, dirty, adventure-filled, hot summer days found me. Each day was new, filled with anticipation until 12:00 when I was allowed to use the rotary phone and call her. We explored my grandparents cattle ranch in Montana with all the zest and zeal of Lewis and Clark. In an instant of seeing her name, I was filled with all kinds of wonderful.
Chasing the cows, catching the frogs in the pond, walking the long dirt road, skipping across the cattle guards, playing in the hay-sheds, the rope-swing in the barn, swinging on the gates, the huge willow tree that we 'lived in'. . . I was there again.
The memory of those days are some of my most cherished.
My happy place has always been in those memories. Here's to opening the creaky doors into those memories. I like that creak.
