One tree, in particular, stands out in my memory. If I had known how to liken a "thing" to an "experience" at that age, I would have likened its "contents" to that of "the holy grail of my childhood". Because about three hundred feet off the ground (childhood memories seldom lie, I'm still convinced it was 300 ft), perched atop the steadiest branches, was the house of my dreams. It was the dirtiest, slipshod treehouse; but I loved it.
I really wanted to live in it, so much so, I would imagine the logistics of treehouse living and maintenance. Where I was going to cook, where I was going to sleep, where I would listen to my radio (because I knew my Momalade wouldn't let me have a TV in there; I didn't even have one in my room). All of this imagining in a treehouse no bigger than an 8' x 5' rectangle. Our friends who owned the treehouse moved away and I never got to play in a treehouse quite like that one, but I still think I would do a pretty, darn good job living in one of those modest rectangles...:).
kiki san
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dos cosas (two things)
ReplyDelete1. there is a place somewhere in washington where you can vacation in your own private tree house. check it out.
2. once upon a time there was a girl named Jessica. Jessica and her best friend Anna wanted to build a tree house. Jessica insisted the only thing she wanted to build was shelves. She spent a whole summer talking about those shelves and never did a darn thing about it. Jessica has always wished that summer had gone differently.