I was a little kid and still too young for public schools.
But not too young for love and war.
We were in war...us against them.
Earth girls versus material girls.
Childhood charges...
I ran, barefoot padding heavy through the grass and slapping the sidewalk hard.
At the end of the day, I had scraped up elbows, knees and one stubbed toe.
'What happened to you?'
'I don't know Momma'
'What do you mean you don't know? Of course you know! Look at you! You are a bloody mess'
'Well, I remember running and falling... I just don't remember getting hurt.'

So I have learned not to declare war so readily...
but I still sometimes fly ninety miles to nothing.
I still fall and just get up and go.
And I still find injuries and wonder where I got them...

Artwork, Prayers for Pixies, by my Sister Singleton of JustGiveMePeace

So there he was…paranoid yet prepared.
Helmet on.
Big toes, escorted by little piggies, on black plastic teeth.
Excitement met anxiety in his eyes...unsure of his situation
The training wheels had just been popped off.
One steadfast and supportive hand held the back of his seat.
‘Okay Now! Pedal!’
‘No-wa-oh! I’m afraid.’
‘It’s okay, I have the back of your seat. You won’t fall.’
‘Only...but if.... if I my bike starts going…fast?’
‘I will be running right beside you. See my hand. I’m right here.’
And so he began to push…
Smiling…
Escorted…
Feeling Free…
The hand fell away and he didn’t realize he had been let go.
He pushed on, in his new found freedom, pushing himself right up the hill.
In a momentary glance, he realized he was alone.
He veered.
No one was holding onto the back of the seat.
He wobbled.
No one was running beside him.
He began to cry out that he couldn’t do it.
The sense of betrayal could be heard in his voice...
Words replacing the hand that had once been at his backside
‘But you are doing it! Keep pedaling son! Keep pushing!’
And so he did.

Sometimes in life we all need a hand, if not to push us, to remind us that we are not really alone.
And sometimes in life we just need to think, feel, believe that someone has got our back in order to learn that we can do it all on our own…

Around the World & the Bizarre Boys

They had first names that I once knew, but I couldn't tell you now what they were for the life of me.
They had last names too, but I always knew them as the 'Bizarre Boys.'

For five years, from the time I was three until about eight, they lived across the bumpity-bumpity brick road from us.

We lived on the lake and had a dock. They liked to fish & used our dock.

In their back yard, between the hammock and the shed, they had a rich black worm mound.

I liked to grab an old tin coffee can and dig my dirty little fingers into the cool, dark dirt & pull out worms for them to fish with.

Older than me, they weren't as fascinated by the idea of a worm hill as I was.

I never really liked these boys, and I certainly didn't like a lot of things they thought was funny or some of the things they did...
but I did like that worm hill...
and I loved their hammock.

I knew that if I dug for their worms and gathered enough up in the coffee can for them, that I would get my reward.
I'd climb up on that hammock & sit with my feet dangling....
I would watch and wait.

Before too long, one of the Bizarre brothers would push me before taking off to go fish.
I loved it and almost always squealed for them to push me harder, faster.
And they would.

One day while I was digging in worm mound, they asked me if I wanted to go around the world later on.
I thought of digging a hole right through that worm mound, straight down to China and all the Kimono's and Koi Fish that could come back with me, so I promptly told them 'Yeah...I wanna go around the world!'

Sitting on the hammock a wee bit later, one of the brother's told me lay square in the center & hold on tight.
I smiled and laced my fingers into the side of the hammock, spreading my feet and locking my toes into ropey slots.
His brother joined him and the two of them paced slowly backwards, pulling the hammock with me inside, back and up with them...
so began the first push.

My laughter was matched with theirs as they pushed me faster & harder.
I pulled the sides of the hammock over my face and torso.
I pulled my feet together and dug in deeper with my heels and toes.
I centered my gravity where the earth seemed to want it.

And so I began my trip around the world...
around and around I went...
full-circle.


(Artwork, "Sisters" by Sister Singleton... Counting down the weeks until my sisters and I begin and end our trip around the world with one another...at the beach...may the circle remain unbroken)

Love Letters & Love Notes...Revisited

Enrico Carusso....I believe that is the name of an old Spanish Opera Singer. My Mom had very old clay records she would play on the Victrola of his. When I say that name, I kind of roll on the R's & I like the way it sounds. I first said that name in 3rd grade.
3rd grade, 1975, saw a move & change of schools, which can always be good or bad. In My World, this move could have been better. I didn't like the wide paved roads as much as the small brick road we had lived on. The neighborhood didn't have all the mature fruit trees & old Oak trees that I was used too. The school was bigger & there weren't as many kids in the neighborhood to play with. Actually, there was probably more kids...but these guys played inside & I rarely saw them.
I met a boy in class & he befriended me. He would walk me to the corner of my street & then go back to go home himself. At the corner, often eating candy or popsicles from the ice cream man, we'd talk. I told him about my old neighborhood, the brick roads, the floating docks & canoes, the orange trees & banana trees and of course, The Big Old Oak Tree. Before moving here, I thought every neighborhood had a Big Old Tree. He told me about His World. How his Momma didn't speak good English & his grandmother lived with them & his father worked hard & about who he liked & didn't like at school. I never invited him to my house...we would meet each other at the corner & say good bye at the corner.
Except one day he just stayed at the corner and I didn't realize it as I walked on. I was about 1/2 way to the house & he came running up behind me. When he caught up with me, he handed me a note & said 'The Big Old Oak Tree...even though I've never seen it.' I took the note, it was tightly folded up into a football & asked what he was talking about. He said, 'Read that when you get home & you'll understand,' and then he turned and ran! I held the note, fumbling it between my fingers, as I watched him dash away. I finally turned and walked a few steps before tucking it into my pocket.

Arriving home, I promptly forgot about the note. It wasn't until bedtime, when I was hashing over the days events in my head, that I remembered the note. My sister & I shared the room next to my parents & the whole house was asleep. I quietly got up & retrieved the note from my crumpled up pants. I turned on the light to my sisters vanity mirror. Hunched in towards the light, I read my note. This is what it said...
"My Dearest & Most Beautiful Paiger~
I would like to kiss you as many times as there are leaves on the tree. I Love You. ~ Enrico Caruso"
Short, thoughtful, passionate, romantic, to the point & filled with lustful desire, this was a true love note...

(This post was originally written almost 3 years ago, but I thought I might bump it back up for Valentines Day...Much Love People)

Red, Rust & Spread All Over

I don't know why we had a gallon of red enamel paint in our garage.
Perhaps it had been left by the renters before us, along with an old dust-bunny covered , leaves weaved into the spider webs rusty, encrusted old brush old brush.
I never paid it too much attention...other than noting that it was there, pushed up to the narrow strip of wall that divided the single garage doors on our old double garage.
I don't know why I did what I did, other than it felt like the thing to do at the moment.
Maybe, I was just bored or maybe I was inspired.
I plucked all the webs and bunnies and age-dried leaves out of the brush.
I shook that can with the weight of my entire body.
I pried the top off with the handle of a dinner fork
and looked as the rust dust as it fell atop the crimson paint.
I wandered into the yard and found an old oak stick, with which I stirred the bucket of love up.
Bows and Arrows.
Hearts.
One Letter.
Two Words.
Every symbol as BIG as me.
Perfectly centered.
Filling the canvas of our double-wide driveway.
Splattered ... Plastered... Tagged...
It was all good...
"Skinny N Timmy"

Mother was livid when she returned home from work to see my handy-dandy graffiti proclamation of LoVe. Of course, the Florida sun had quick dried the permanent paint. Still, she had me scrub with a scrub brush and turpentine and I can remember that scrub brush eventually disintegrating, but red-etchings from that bucket of love remained for the tenants that followed behind us... May the Circle Remain Unbroken.

Tin Foil Spit Balls & Tying Ones Hair in Knots

Twelve years old and yet again at another new school...I shuffled from class to class.
Fourth period...last class before last lunch, my lunch.

I recognized her from homeroom, but we still did not speak.
She sat in front of me & I noticed she carried her lunch in a brown paper bag.

Every two or three minutes, she'd pivot around, lock eyes with me and carefully place one small round tinfoil ball in the carved out notch for holding pens and pencils in my desk.
I spoke not.
Once there was five or six tinfoil balls, she stopped.

Close to the end of class, as our teacher was etching out mathematical equations on the chalkboard and everyone was hand-cramped frantic jotting notes from the board, she spun around and locked eyes with me one more time.
I watched.

As Mr Reeves, our teacher, spun back around to face the class a tinfoil ball bounced off his cheek.
Ninety percent of the class didn't even see it, but I did.
Before I had time to think, I let out a belly-laugh of astronomic proportions.
The class sat in silence.

New to the school, new to the class, I covered my face, not giggling but undeniably laughing, ''I am sorry, I am so sorry. It wasn't me. I am so sorry.''

Mr. Reeves face was the color of crimson tide as he charged down my aisle and eyed the pile of tinfoil balls lined up in my pencil holder.
The wide eyed girl in front of me never laughed and never turned around.
I didn't even bother trying to explain.
I took the punishment that came my way.

Then, day after day, I sat silently behind that girl and one strand at a time, one day at a time I commenced to tying her hair in knots.
Tiny little knots.

Finally, one day, she spun back around...'Are you doing something to my hair?'
'Yes.'
'What are you doing?'
'I'm tying it in knots.'

She bellowed out in laughter...
I joined her.
Thus began the first of many detentions she and I would ultimately serve together and of course, our friendship.

We should never be afraid to laugh ;)

Outsider Hippie Art Compliments of Sister Sing and Just Give Me Peace

Stray Dogs, Whoopings and Peace Man

He had a scruffy little head, which he tossed to the left when he wanted to get his dirty blond hair out of his eyes.
He loved to play soccer, as did I... but unlike me, he considered himself to play very well.
We both wore corduroy Levi's and faded t-shirts.
Robert.
Not Bobbie or Robbie. Those names were to laid back for him.
A formal full name for an informal guy.
We had been friends in the years before...
Sometimes riding bikes or throwing the football, walking the creek or feeding stray dogs.
But Field Day came & saw a change between Robert & I.
We bounced on balloons tacked to chairs and made long jumps as far as we could. We ran in sprints and played tug-of-war. A thousand kids with a hundred things to do. Surely a place where there was room for everyone to be winner and for everyone to be a loser.
The line of kids to do pull-ups was short, perhaps the shortest of all the lines.
I got in it, along with Helena.
The boys, including Robert, heckled us as we stood in line.
We put our hands on hips, popped some hi-shine flavored cherry gloss on our lips & rolled our eyes.
When my time came, I pulled up on the bar and did as many as I could in my 60 seconds and then I moved on to the next activity.
When Friday came and all of us sixth graders were due to get our awards and honorable mentions for our physical efforts on Wednesday, I anticipated enjoying the 'free time.' Time spent at school...not doing school work.
What I did not anticipate was getting the award for the most pull-ups achieved in the 6th grade. Nor did I anticipate that Robert would be the runner up and, as our teacher, Mr. Dooley, pointed out... falling 'double-digits behind a skinny little thing.'
That was it.
War was on.
Robert now despised me.
He saw everything I did as competition.
When we played soccer, he'd rather lose the game than share the ball with me. If I scored, he cursed me. After the games, he'd want to argue with me about what I did or didn't do.
At first I tried my rolling of the eyes trick, but that didn't last too many days.
Mom said 'Sometimes a lady just lets a boy win.'
So I gave wise ole Momma's trick a try.
This led to Robert just giving me an increasing hard time. Finally, after one particular game, I had had enough of his laughing, shoving and name-calling.
Before I had time to think about what I was going to say, I was speaking in a flat, low and very grave voice...
'You dumb ass. I freakin' gave you the ball and when you fumbled, I got it back...ran with it, then gave it back to again...so YOU could score! So YOU could feel better about yourself! Not so that you could give me crap.... you're such a loser!'
I saw my words sink in. I saw his eyes level. And then I saw a fire inside of them of the likes that I had never seen before.
'You bitch! I ought to kick your ass!'
'Go For It!'
Tangled in a whirlwind of sandspurs and sand, spit and fire...Robert and I were in a rolling ball of adrenaline, intent on the moment until our coach finally broke us up.
Afterwards, the boys were laughing & the girls were appalled.
Robert & I both were taken to the office.
The principal said he could either call our parents or give us a paddling.
I got six licks across the bottom with the paddle of my choice and Robert got eight.
Before the school year was over, I ended up getting paddled many more times.
But the last time I got paddled, I got paddled alone.
The dew was still wet on the grass and I stood in the quasi-daybreak outside of my classroom door. I was at school early, in fact even before the teachers and buses arrived.
There had been a stray dog, seemingly starving, that I had been feeding and taking water to for a couple of weeks. He'd meet me in the field just off the sixth grade wing. I would sit indian style in the grass and watch him eat and drink, then let him curl up in my lap until the bell sounded. But this morning he was no where to be found....so I stood alone with my paper bag of stolen morsels and metal bowl from home waiting for the day.
I heard the sound of people and knew that the first buses had arrived. There was laughter. I heard it all, but really couldn't be bothered to turn around. I was too intent, looking into the woods that lined the field, hoping to spot my stray dog.
All of a sudden SLAM! I stumbled downwards and forwards, all along having my shoulder ground into the rough, brick wall.
Before I had time to register what had happened, I heard Robert's sarcastic voice.
'Oh, excuse me.'
I was able to keep myself from falling, but my paper bag and books went flying.
Dog food scattered across the walkway.
The howling began....'Look! Skinny brought her lunch today!'
The heckling continued and I said nothing.
As I picked my books up, I looked across the field.
There he was! On the edge of the woods! Sheepishly looking out! Looking for me!
I gathered all the morsels of dog food and threw them in my bag. I stacked my books by the door. I filled my bowl from the water fountain and walked out across the field.
The first bell rang, then the second and there I sat, indian style with a peaceful little bag of bones in my lap.
Finally, Mr Dooley came out to beckon me in.
I watched as the mutt slowly meandered his way, tail tucked between his legs, back to the edge of the woods. Poor little fellow didn't seem like he was doing too good.
At lunch time, I opted for the 'paper bag' lunch, which usually had a peanut butter sandwich and some fruit, and white milk.
I took my bag to the sixth grade wing and looked to the woodline. There he was, just barely in the shade of the trees. I ate some fruit and he had a sandwich and milk.
Seeing the kids pile up in front of my classroom door, I knew that lunch time was drawing near it's end & having been late in the morning, I ran across the way.
When I got there, Mr Dooley had yet to return.
I tapped Robert on the shoulder.
When he turned around, I kicked him in the shin with all the might I had in me.
As I watched him crumble to the ground, I said 'Oh, Excuse Me'.
No sooner had the words sliced their way out of my mouth, then I felt Mr Dooley's hand grab me by the back of my neck.
I showed the principal my scabby shoulder and arm.
He apologized, but stated that no-one had witnessed it.
And that was the day that I got my whippings alone.
A couple days later, I was out in the field with my peaceful stray dog, as was our morning ritual.
Robert snuck up on me & he was alone.
'What do you want?'
'Nothing.... sorry you got whooped alone. I should have been whooped too.'
'It's Ok. I deserved it as much as you deserved getting kicked.'
'That hurt!' and he showed my the yellow green egg on his shin.
I looked down towards my scraped shoulder and arm. 'Well, I found out we're moving on Friday. You won't have me to fight with anymore.'
Robert just looked at me, then at the nameless pooch and finally back again...'Skinny?'
'Yeah?'
'I promise, I'll come early everyday, even on the weekends...I only live a block away, and feed your stray dog.'
'Really?'
'Yeah. Promise. Swear.'
'Ok. Thanks.'
'What's his name?'
'I call him Peace-man, but I guess he really doesn't have a name.'
The next morning, Robert was there before me.
'I saw him, but he took off into the woods.'
I sat down, indian-style, and motioned for Robert to join me.
'Come on Peace-man. Hungry?'
After several minutes, he came. And over the course of the next couple of days he warmed up to Robert.
Lost and Found.
Peace....man.

Bad Wiring...

Bad wiring.
That's what they told my Momma caused our house to burn down.

I understand that 'bad wiring' can cause a lot of things to go wrong, even with people, but part of me always felt like it was my fault.

Maybe it was the 'bad wiring' in me that made the fire happen. After all, I am the one who purposefully stepped on every crack I possibly could on my way home that fiery day.

I heard Momma on the phone talking to Aunt Julip one time about Uncle Clyde. I heard her say in a hush, hush voice that he had bad wiring...maybe I had inherited that bad wiring from him. Maybe one day, I too, would go live at a prison like him and all the other folks with bad wiring. Or at least, those that didn't get shipped off to live at a place called The Loonie Bin.

Dennis had a beautiful mother. She looked like Mindy from Mork & Mindy, but with shiny beautiful streaks of silver in her long brown hair. When she ran, those silver streaks looked like shooting stars fallen to the ground, bouncing their way around her face. I couldn't help but gravitate towards her when she came running to fetch Dennis and I. I felt right at home, for the moment, in her arms and then, I felt guilty. She wasn't my mother and I had truly never felt relief in another womans' arms before. But relief is what it was.

The three of us walked slowly back to Dennis' house. Unlike most adults, his Mom walked defiantly down the middle of the road. No cars came down, as if they knew that this was her territory and they dared not cross her path. She had a mission & I guess that was to get Dennis & I back to the safety of her home. Dennis and I walked in silence, each of us attached to either side of her but I couldn't help but look at her through the corner of my eye. Her hair, unlike mine, was thick and full. It bounced & blew free in the wind. Her hair seemed to have a life of it's own, a natural outpouring of her. I thought about my own hair. Thin, limp and lifeless. Just then, I realized that my shoulders were slumped and I wondered if I got better at holding my shoulders up, if i too, one day, would have thick, vibrant hair.

When we got to his house, his father was elbows up & head down in the trunk. He didn't see us coming and didn't really acknowledge us upon our arrival.

Feeling my sweaty fingers getting kinked, knuckle over knuckle, I realized his Mom still had not let go of our hands and in fact, her grip was getting tighter.

'Home early, huh?'
'Yeah.'
'What's going on?'
'What does it look like? I am busy trying to find some files, okay?!'
'Well, okay. Sorry, I just wasn't expecting you home so early.'
'Well I am. What are you guys doing?'
'I was just going to fix an after-school snack for the kids, then let them play some games or something.'
'Well, I have work to do here today, so that's probably not a good idea. Maybe they can go play games at Paige's house instead.'
'Oh... that's not an option, honey.'
"What?! Not an option?! She can come here, eat our food, play our games?!? But our son can't go there?! Then maybe she should just go the fuck home & play with her damned self!"

I felt the blood rush to my head & I felt my knees begin to shake. Dennis & I never played over at his house! His dad didn't know. He was never home! I felt the blood rush back to my fingers, but just for a moment. The moment between Dennis' Mom letting go of our hands & me clenching my fist.

'Children! Go Inside!'
We budged not an inch.
'Steven... that is not an option because Paige's house burned today. Okay?'

She didn't spit these words out like a woman who walked in the middle of the road. They came out of her like a first grader confessing a potty accident. Suddenly the shiny silver of her hair started to look dull and gray.

'Great! How bad is it?'
'Children... I said go inside....please. It's totaled Steven.'
'Shit! How the fuck did they do that? How long is she here for?'
'I don't know. The fire department just finished putting it out.'
'Sheesh! How long is she here for?'
Until her mother comes to get her.'
'Fuck! When will that be? When she's eighteen?'

I don't know how many times he had said it, but it was the whine in his voice that caught my attention. It was Dennis, he was half way to the door...'Come on Paige.'

I didn't know what to do. I looked at his parents, who were glaring and speechless, staring at one another. My fist were still clenched. I ran to Dennis.
'Man, is your dad drunk?'
'What?'
'Is he drunk or something?'
'Nah, he just gets like this. Come on in.'
'Ummmm, I don't think so.' I sat down on one of the two steps that led up to his door.
Hand on the doorknob, head cocked to the side...'What? Come on in Paige.'
'Nah, my Momma told your Mom she'd pick me up here. I'll just wait for her here. She won't be too long.'
Dennis plopped down beside me.
Once again, Dennis and I found ourselves sitting on the cool concrete watching the turmoil before us....contemplating what to do and opting to do nothing.

ps...this is fiction folks. To see the parts before this, click FICTION below and read the oldest first. As always..peace & love.

Last One Standing & First One Down

Barefoot, with toenails painted & fingers not, sporting jogging shorts and a black sabbath tank, the dog days of summer were upon us.
The fire engine red polish winked back up at the sun, as did the wet, wavy tinsel some 30 feet below.
The iron tubing that served as the top bar on the safety railing was as hot as an iron skillet ready for batter.
With both arms behind me, I gripped the bar with one hand, then the other. Playing hot potato.
'David did it.'
'Yeah, so did Will. He said it was fun.'
'A lot of people have done it.'
'I heard it's a rush man.'
'Are you gonna do it?'
'Yeah, I'll probably go for it....you?'
'I don't know...looks pretty scary.'
I say nothing and notice that the iron tube seems to be cooling under my palms.
A 1965 white T-bird convertible pulls up and Billy bellows out...
'Skinny! What the phuck are you doing?!'
'Just hanging out'
A horn honks...pulling away, Billy barks 'Hang on! Lemme park this beast.'
Before he can run up the incline of the bridge, a 79 Spyder comes driving past.
It's Steve.
Steve who is 3 years older than me.
Steve who has delicious blue eyes that seem to dance when I'm around.
Steve who surfs & smokes pot & makes me stomach do flips.
Steve who bangs a U-turn when he sees me.
Steve who came back around and stops just in time to see Tracey pull my jogging shorts down to my ankles.
Steve who saw me instinctively let go off both bars to pull my bottoms back up.
Steve who saw me do what no one else there had done.
Plunge 30' feet down off the bridge and into the open salty waters below.

Sometimes...in life, if we don't jump or get pushed, we simply fall to where we are meant to be.
'Last One Standing' Outsider Hippie Art By Sister Singleton

Paths Home, Step on a Crack & Fireside Friends Excerpt

Part Two...Part one begins on May 4 Post
I imagine, it was the path she preferred & probably thought I always took.
I'm sure she really had no idea that there even was a 'cut-through' way, at least until she got the phone call from that whistle-like-clockwork mother of Dennis'.
My mother was the type of woman to pick her battles well and who believed that children should be children. She accepted that this meant that sometimes we did things that adults didn't do, but more often than not she chalked it up to lesson learned. On the few occasions when she got concerned, maybe even irate, phone calls from parents, teachers or neighbors... I could hear her on the red phone in the kitchen... 'Ahuh, Ahum, Yes, I See, Alright, I understand, Ok, Thank You for Letting Me Know.'

'Paige....did Miss Diedre give you a dollar?'
'Yes Ma'am.'
'Did you tear it up in her yard?'
'Yes Ma'am.'
'Honey, that offended her...she worked hard for that dollar. Why would you tear it up?'
'I tore into tiny pieces & balled each little piece up & watered them, then I dug a little holes & buried them. I'm gonna grow a Money Tree. I'll share it with Miss Diedre when it grows.'

'Paige...were you playing with matches today?'
'No.'
'Are you sure?'
'Yes'
'The neighbors said they saw you in the bushes starting a fire.'
'Yeah, but I did that with dry leaves and a magnifying glass...they just smoked.'

'Paige...do you know what marijuana is?'
'Huh?'
'Marijuana...do you know what it is?'
'No'
'Did you tell Miss Vicci she should roll her own cigarettes?'
'Yes'
'Why?'
'Oh, because her husband told me it was cheaper, but that she didn't understand.'

'Paige do you know where Cut-Through Road is?'
'No'
'Paige did you go walking in the woods by the high school today with Dennis & Lara?'
'Yes.'
'Do you ever go into those woods alone?'
'Ummm, yea....'
'Honey, let me make this clear to you... You are to never go into the woods with Dennis or Lara again. In fact, you are to never go into those woods again, at all. Most importantly, I don't want you to ever, ever go into those woods alone.'
'But, why?'
'I received a phone call from Dennis' mother, she was most upset. You children are not to ever venture into those woods again. Not together, not alone...never again. Do you understand me? That trail is not safe'
'Yes, but why? It's cool there Momma...why?'
'Honey, this bothers me terribly... did you make Lara go potty in the woods in front of Dennis.'
'She said she really had to go & was crying. I told her to go behind a tree. Dennis was our look-out. It was no big deal.'
'Well it was big deal to Dennis & Lara's parents. They think that type of behavior is dirty. And that trail is not safe! They may not even let them walk with you in the morning!'

Up half the night, flipping & flopping on my lop-sided bed ( it only had one support board, placed at a diagonal) I found myself haunted by thoughts of confusion, betrayal and anger. Usually after my momma had received a phone call, she would question me, talk to me & then enlighten me. This time she did more. She shamed me & it didn't set pretty in my spirit.

Sometimes, not too often, but sometimes, Dennis would join me for my walk home from school on the 'cut-through' path. We usually found an adventure or two, short-lived, but something we would never discover on the sidewalk home. Once we found the mother of all anthills. It must have been crotch-high. We speared it with a fallen branch and watched as a gazillion ants climbed that branch. The rest of that walk home, we found ourselves hunting out anthills, looking for one to top the mother. If they weren't big enough to get speared, we marked them. Dennis drew a lightning bolt through those he found and I drew an X. Claiming and marking anthills wasn't too uncommon for us.
We liked to think of ourselves as the Lewis & Clark of this off-beaten path. Another time we found a huge beetle the color of gasoline on water & we called it the Magic Beetle. We imagined it to a beetle that had not yet been discovered by the rest of the world & thought about collecting it to take to school as a specimen of our discoveries, but opted to let the Magic Beetle stay hidden in the woods.
Once we found a note, written by a high school girl to a boy named Tommy, torn into shreds. We plucked rain & dew-stained pieced up from the pine straw carpeting & out of sticky bushes. We crouched down, knees to chin and booties to ankles & re-assembled the note. In it, the girl talked about hoping to meet the recipient at their 'secret spot.' As Dennis & I read this, he looked at me...'This is our secret spot, isn't it Paige?'
'Yeah.'
'Do you think it's theirs too?'
'Nah.'
The note went on to talk about how she felt betrayed by some girl named Rosie, who had apparently told everyone all of her business. She said in the note that she wished she had never shared anything with Rosie, most especially their secret spot & she hoped that Rosie wouldn't come. She said it didn't matter if Rosie flirted with him, because she believed he truly loved her & only her. It was signed 'Celeste' with beautiful stars and a moon.
We wondered why Tommy would tear the note up & leave it in the woods for us to find. Maybe Tommy & Rosie had a thing going on & Rosie tore the note up herself. Maybe, Celeste found out that Tommy & Rosie had a secret place of their own and tore the note up before she even gave it to Tommy. In the world of maybes, anything was possible.
'I like how Celeste signed her name.'
'I sign my notes to you with a lightning bolt.'
'I know, I like them too.'
'You sometimes sign yours with peace signs'
'Yeah sometimes'
'Those should be our secret signatures & that way we don't have to sign our names. If we ever lose a note, no-one will know who it's from'
'Cool. I can handle that.'
Well, it didn't take Dennis long to pop my bubble on this one. A few days later, Lara, a mutual friend of ours, told me Dennis had given her a 'football.' A 'football' was a note folded & folded again until it was shaped like a tight little triangle that could be punted with a finger across a table, or even across the room. Hmmm....Dennis always gave me footballs, but I didn't know he was giving them to other people too. 'He signed it with a really cool drawing he did of a lightning bolt. ' I guess the lightning bolt and peace sign wasn't our secret signature, but more like his signature and mine. I found that as the school day wore on, it began to crawl up me that Dennis had taken what he had said was 'our secret' and shared it with Lara.
At the end of the day, I opted to bee-line for the cut-through road...I was down-right mad at Dennis for his misleading me into believing we had our own 'secret system' of signing notes. My brow furrowed under the high sun as I thought about Celeste, Tommy & Rosie. As I meandered my way into the shady wooded path, my mind drifted on to my mom, my dad and his girlfriend, Iris. I made a mental note to ask Mom if Lara was a flower. About 30feet to the right of the beaten path I saw a school of mushrooms, which I don't think had been there they day before. They were on the shady side of a fallen tree I sometimes would balance-beam walk across. I ventured over to check them out...soft and gray with a faint ring of peach at the edges. Quite pretty. I sat on the fallen tree & plopped the head off of one & inspected it's tightly ribbed underside. I wondered if it was poisonous.
About then I heard, laughter & chatter, so I froze just as I was...with my shoulders laying across my knees and my arms reaching down like an orangutans to the mushrooms. More chatter, then some whining and I knew exactly who I heard coming. The feeling seared through my body, as if that mushroom was poisoned with toxic adrenaline and anger and I had eaten some. But I hadn't eaten any mushroom and it wasn't poison. It was pure anger. Still, I didn't move. I wanted to blend right in with the woods.
'Yeah, she thinks this is a secret!Hahahaha'
'I think it's kinda scary.'
'It's not scary. Lots of people come through here.'
'We haven't seen any people'
'Yeah, but look how wide the path is...it's wider than the sidewalk.'
'Maybe it's where the bears and wolves...and werewolves walk.'
'Don't be silly. It's cool.'
'I'm scared.'
Dennis! And Lara! That idiot! What was he thinking bringing little miss prim and clean through here! Every so quietly I picked up a fallen pine cone & I tossed it into the path before them. Lara jumped and screamed, while Dennis laughed and ran to grab the pine cone.
'Don't leave me.' she whined. Laughing he hurled the pine cone into the woods to the left.
'It's just a pine cone. They fall from the trees.'
'Yeah, well, maybe it's a sign. I've never seen a pine cone just fall like that.'
My adrenaline was racing...I was now furious and entertained. I stretched my long skinny arms out a little bit further to reach for another fallen cone and got two. As they walked passed me, with her whining & him re-assuring her, I wondered if he was questioning his own sanity for bringing her down here. Then I tossed another cone, lightly. It crashed into the path right behind them. Dennis looked a little shaken by this one and Lara was on the brink of tears, but they ventured on with their pace picked up quite a bit. The speed with which they were moving surprised me and before I knew it, I hurled the third pine cone as hard as I could.
Bullseye!
It smacked Dennis right square in the middle of his back. He jumped, yelled & turned around...little, white fists drawn and Lara... she crumpled to the ground in tears.
My entertainment and anger quickly gave way to guilt, as I realized that not only was Lara in a fit of tears, but Dennis had tinkled himself...his faded Wranglers had gone dark blue in a ribboned reflection of his moment of fear.
Before I had time to think about what I was doing, I was calling and crawling out from my depth in the woods...'Hey you guys! Calm down! Its only me!'
All the anger I had felt ten minutes earlier was now directed back at me ten-fold. Dennis was livid. His face paled with fear, turned red with anger. Lara's tears turned into sobs and her whole body convulsed as she stood up from her crumpled position.
'What the hell were you thinking Paige?!'
'I was just playing around! What were you thinking Dennis?!'
'I didn't know what the hell was going on. You scared us! Lara's crying and I...'
'I know! I see! I didn't mean for that to happen! Maybe you should have gone to the bathroom before leaving school!'
Lara's sobs turned into words....'I-yi-yi neeeeeeed tooooo teeeeeeenkul'
Ugh, now my guilt was quickly reverting back to anger and was getting coupled with frustration. I should just kept the pine cones as my own damn secret!
'Go squat on that log so you don't pee on yourself too!'
'I-yi-yi-yi cayyyunttt.'
'Yes, you can!'
'W-w-will you go with me?'
'C'mon. Dennis, you stand guard & don't look!'
'Ive never peed in the woods before.'
'Yeah, well Lara, there's no bathroom here.'
'What do I do?'
'Squat on the log, pull your panties down and tinkle.'
You would have thought the child had never stepped on a log before... as she began to squat down, she said 'what will I wipe with?'
'First of all Lara, stand the other way so that your tinkle falls on the ground behind the log...not on the log or it will splatter all back up on you and secondly, you wont wipe.'
'I can't do that. That's gross. I can't. I can't. I can't.'
'Ok, well then if you can't then let's go...but don't blame me if you tinkle yourself on the way home like Dennis did!'
Lara tinkled for so long over that fallen log that even I felt relief.
I never caught Dennis cheating and taking a peek. Despite being covered in urine himself, he seemed to be taking pride in his position as 'guard.'
The three of us walked the rest of the trail pretty much in silence, after Lara went pottty.
At one point Lara said 'This isn't so scary after all.'
'Dennis should have never brought you here.'
'It's not your secret place Paige' she piped off like little miss dignity.
'That's not the point Lara.'
'She's right Paige...lots of people come here. Look at the path, it's well worn'
'Again, that's not the point Tommy...I mean, Dennis'
'Who's Tommy?'
Before I could answer Lara's question, Dennis told her 'It's a secret.'

And so these are the details that are behind my mother getting phone calls from 'concerned parents' and me ultimately getting shamed, warned of the dangers that lurk in the woods, shamed some more, warned about walking alone, more shaming & ultimately a night of rocking my bed in fits of confusion and anger.
For whatever reasons, the next afternoon I took the 'sidewalk' home.

Paths Home, Step on a Crack & Fireside Friends

Being a 'latch-key' kid of a single mom in the mid-1970's was kind of cool... in a cutting edge way.
While other kids had a schedule with which they expected to adhere, I could kind of make my own as long as all was good & done by the end of the day.
This sometimes meant watching Gilligans Island while Suzie did homework or playing in the hose while Dennis got whistled in by his momma for supper.
Every now and again, I would chase the ice cream man down the street with change stolen from my mother's jar.
I was a 'walker.'
Sometimes I felt like walking with Sabrina and she lived in the complete opposite direction. I would walk her home, eat whatever snack her mother handed out & then I would scoot on home.
Usually, I liked to take the 'cut-through.' I am not so sure that it was any less distance than any other way, but it was typically more peaceful & therefore the path I preferred, unless I felt like company. In the 'cut-through' path, I would venture out the side exit of the school building and cut through the fields that ultimately fed into the local high school. There, at the high school, I could walk the lap around their track and sometimes, I would venture into their expansive halls. Halls that had big-kid things...like lockers and vending machines. In the ominous halls, I would daydream about one day having a spin at their potters wheel or wearing wooden shoes that would echo down the hall & out to the world...'I am big!'
On the far side of the high school campus was a slightly worn path that cut through the woods and fed out to the street about five doors down from my house. I liked this trail, because I could walk leisurely & stop along the way... saving rolly-pollies, chasing butterflies & sabotaging massive anthills with sticks found along the way. I rarely saw other folks on it...occasionally a high school smoking. Looking back, I guess the desolate nature of this path was why Dennis & Lara told me that their mother's didn't allow them to take the 'cut-through' even though Dennis had taken it more than a time or two with me.
Rarely did I like to take the sidewalk. But if I was busy jabber-jawing and wanted to walk with friends, this was the route I would take. Solid sidewalks...from the main entry of my elementary school all the way to my house. It was also the path that almost all of the 'walkers' on my side took. To me, this meant getting stuck behind someone slower or having to cut-off into someone's yard or the street. It also meant having to either listen or talk to some folks I would just rather not deal with. This was the route that my mother had pointed out to me when we relocated there. I imagine, it was the path she preferred & probably thought I always took.
~~~To Read FullStory, In Order, Read Post Above Now, Then Continue Below~~~
For whatever reasons, the next afternoon I took the 'sidewalk' home. But I wasn't jabber-jawing and I wasn't walking with friends. I was walking alone in a swarm of kids. I was trying to be patient & not pass anyone in people's yards or the street. To slow my pace, I looked down & focused on the ground before me & not the kids in front of me that were walking too slow. To entertain my attempt at patience, I decided to step on every single crack in the concrete. Man-made cracks every three feet & crumpled up cracks from bulging tree roots...I stepped on them all.
With sirens faintly echoing off in the distance, I heard a familiar voice bark out at me "You trying to break your mothers back?"
I stopped and leered at Dennis, who had come up behind me..."No-oh, I don't believe that stuff."
"Yeah...but what if..."
Picking up my pace & still leering over my shoulder at Dennis, I started to say something rude and instead said "firetruck."
I could see it down our long stretch of road... a good 6 blocks off but coming our way.
Dennis turned and looked at it real quick and then piped off with 'Probably going to your house, since you been stepping on all them cracks."
"Don't say that Dennis"
"I'm only kidding"
"I know...but still."
The trucks passed us, turned up ahead & sirens disappeared.
Dennis joined me & we both picked up stride, passing the masses...not that we felt pressed to get anywhere. It's just what we did when in the herd-mentality, we liked to be at the front, even if we knew all the kids would be at home before we got to our final destinations.
At the four-way stop sign, where Dennis usually took to the left and me to the right, we stopped for a moment. Plopping our books on the concrete ditch coverage we sat over the world below and talked. We talked about car washes for money, the neighbors bunny farm & about how snobby-nosed Abbie thought her cousin looked like the Fonz, which ultimately made her as cool as sliced bread.
Finally, we heard the whistle of Dennis' mom.
Dennis headed off to the left & I took to the right.
My head must have been down to the ground, because at first I didn't see it and I know I should have.
Black smoke. Not gray, not blue...black.
Rolling, tumbling, lapping like the parched tongue of a dog in the dead heat of the summer, the smoke made it's way through the trees and into the sky.
I picked up my pace, thinking 'Oh yeah, there were firetrucks.'
Two more houses down, my stomach jumped to my throat, my heart sank to my groin and I dropped my books in a mad dash.
Then, I froze in my tracks...in the middle of the road and I let every doubt and every belief and every fear and every day dream I had ever had, every crack I had ever stepped on leached out of me in a scream....."DENNIS!!!"
Somehow, in an instant everything in my head placed blame on him & everything about me needed him more than ever.
Two doors down from my house, Dennis sat on the curb with me, as the firemen did their job.
"You should tell them."
"No, not yet"
After the fire was extinguished and the yellow tape was drawn...Dennis & I ventured closer to the house. The doors were gone, the windows were gone, the white brick was crumbled in some spots and was charred black & gray all over. Through the saturated & stained rumble I could see straight into the kitchen & hanging from the center wall was our phone ... a red wall-mounted rotary phone. It was stretched out to the floor, numbers in circles spanning two feet... like me, melted in its' place.
"You gotta tell them before they leave."
"See my phone? What am I gonna do? I was waiting to call my Mother first."
(Paths Home, Step on a Crack & Fireside Friends is from my imagination, not my past...a first for me here)
Today, the phone hangs, all five feet of it, like artwork from the kitchen wall.

Charm Bracelets

Charm bracelets.
Every girl wants one, especially if they have never had one.
Puppy dogs and kittens, ballet slippers & music notes, footballs and years, Statues of Liberty & Leaning Towers, airplanes & trains, lucky clovers & Italian stallions, hearts. peace signs & flowers.
No two charm bracelets alike... like no two girls are quite alike. A reflection of experiences, desires, dreams, past times & times past or yet to come.
I never had a charm bracelet & thought it would be a good idea to get all my nieces one along with two charms for Christmas several years ago. Making my purchase at a large, national retailer I inquired about warranties and was told 'one year: replace or repair if you retain the receipt.'
Four months later, I took two of my nieces & a broken charm bracelet back to the retailer along with my receipt. The girl at the counter said that there was nothing they could do. She happened to be the same exact person who sold me the bracelets and charms. Reminding her of that and still denied, I asked for the department manager. Yet, again I was told that there was nothing that could be done, as they no longer did repairs and the bracelets were over thirty days old.
I asked to speak to the store manager.
He repeated the same thing.
Hmmmm.....
After spending entirely too much time discussing the ins and outs of them changing their company policy, I finally asked the store manager if they accepted returns from other locations.
He said, ' Yes for any reason at all ... as long as they are within thirty days & accompanied with a receipt.'
'Oh, Ok. Great. Thanks for your time... C'mon Girls.'
Off we went, six skinny legs in long stride.
We went into the far-side location of this national retailers and picked up a replacement charm bracelet. Then we went on a glorious little shopping spree. Picking out & up anything and everything that three young ladies could ever want & never really need. When our buggy was full, we smooshed the stuff down. When it got full again, we took out a ten dollar item and replaced it with a similar sized fifty dollar item. We giggled and laughed all the way to the counter.
Cha-Ching, Cha-ching, Cha-ching...the wonderful sound of profits for the far-side retailer.
Cha-ching...the short-term sound of the power of plastic.
Back at the truck, we loaded the bed up and then sat on the tail-gate and opened one package... a silver charm bracelet. The broken one got dropped back into the package provided by the far-side and new one got placed on the wrist....
Thirty minutes later...
'Ma'am, are you returning all these items?'
'Yes'am.'
'Goodness. What's the matter with it all?'
'Oh, we just bought too much. I was told by your manager we could return everything for any reason as long as it was within 30 days and I had the receipt.' Passing her the receipt,'Most of it hasn't even been taken out of the bag.'
'Oh, Ok.'
The final Cha-Ching of the day. With credit in hand...'Oh, tell your manager that the charm bracelet is broken.'

footnote: Yes, I could have just eaten the thirty bucks and just replaced the girls bracelet, but it was the principle. In between my personal spending & corporate spending, they had made about a hundred bucks a week off of me for years and possibly years to come. When this retailers changed their policy, they were no longer honoring their word. In their world, words are worthless but money is not. Words should never be worthless.
Smart Cars Incorporated aka Smartcarsinc.net have proven their word to be worthless. But words are never really worthless.

Good Books & Bourbon on Black and Blue Nights

When a new moon shines her face high in the sunshines sky, it doesn't make the day any brighter, but more interesting. And you know it means that come nightfall, she's gonna leave you be. Left long enough without her, your eyes will adjust... catching shades of black and blue in everything.
Emergency candles. About four and half inches tall. Ten at a time, they come in a plain open-face box. An everyday saucer turns into a candle holder when you flic the bic and melt the bottom of these ten cent lights & quickly smoosh their base to the saucer.
Living without power every night is a late night filled with cooking out & candle light, but the new moon nights seem to be the latest of late nights. It's dark...really dark. People go to bed early ... all but the night owls.
Some of the night owls are older & wander out to roam the streets, smoking cigarettes on the corner and talking about 'One day...' Some, like me, are younger and have to stay in.
Some folks that aren't normally night owls become night owls under the influence of a lack of moonshine & the presence of cheap bourbon. That would be my dad.
I, like him, have fallen pray to never 'going to bed' but instead simply 'falling asleep.' We read, watch, talk until K-Plop! we're out.
For him it always seems like he falls asleep hours and hours before me.
But take away the moon and it's shine and leave it's place a ten cent candle and a cheap bottle of bourbon & he'll be up all night.
It was 1974 or maybe it was 1976. I can't remember.
The house was dark and quiet. Very quiet. No hum of the fridge. No clicking of the water pump. No birds outside whistling. No snoring.
Everyone was asleep or out and about. Except for me. And him. And he had already been in sqwaukin at me ...'go to sleep child!'
I could hear him fidgeting, munting, grunting, shifting, twisting, grumbling & occassionally I could hear the clink of the bottle returning to the counter top. I laid still...staring out the window, willing my eyes to be able to see better than shades of blue and black in this dark, moonless night.
I heard a door open, then close. More grumbling. Then a rummaging sound. Another clink and the door opened again, followed by the sound of something outside. I didn't budge.
It went quiet again. Totally quiet. I started to get up to investigate, but froze in fear as I heard the door again. This time it simply closed with a slam.
Somewhere, someone stirred then, again, total silence. I laid there for eternity, playing possum...waiting for the grumble, for the clink. It never came.
So, I pitter-pattered quietly to the front of the house. I could see no-one, even with the light from the street shining in. I went to the door and looked out the window.
There, under the street light and down by the road, lay one twin sized mattress. Upon it a man, my father, in baby blue boxers on his back with one leg bent & the other crossed over it. His head was cocked to the side, like I had seen it a thousand times before, intently focused on the hard-back book clutched in his left hand.
Twas the night of new moons and, finally, to all a good night.



Images compliments of my little world, the world wide web & the dumb asses at smart cars inc;)

Save It For Another Day

Kimbies, Curt and I made the walk together.
I was filled with absolute dread.
The day was young and our shadows were long, providing some distractive relief. I looked like a big girl...in my shadows.
My hair was pulled up in an "I dream of Jeanie" pony-tail. The way it swished left and right, through the air, kissing each shoulder with every step I took made me feel... a little magical.
At the curb of our destination, Kimbies grabbed my hand.
I flung her away.
'You have to hold my hand.'
'No.'
'Look at how many kids are in there. I told Mom I would get you safely to your first day of school. I don't want to lose you...so take my hand.'
p a u s e
'...now'
'I don't wanna go.'
'You're going.'
Kimbies grasped my unwilling little hand and dragged me through the gate.
The children inside this gate looked like barbarians...running, yelling, kicking sand, crying. So many kids...none of them buddied up. So many kids...all together, yet all alone.
Kimbies delivered me to a frantic looking woman holding a clipboard.
I watched Kimbies turn and walk towards Curty Boy... who stood just outside the gate.
His eyes like saucers, fore-finger hooked over nose, sucking on his thumb.
I waved to him. He lifted his free hand and gave me a small wave back and then they disappeared.
The lady with the clipboard contended with the unending line of kids.
The kids ran. They screamed. They kicked.
I watched.
'What are you doing?' she asked me.
'I don't know. What am I supposed to do?'
'Go play on the monkey bars or something'
I wandered over to the monkey bars. I climbed the rungs up and looked to the other side & saw a little girl, whom I thought was foaming at the mouth, frantically climb the other side. I waited until she got to the top before I swung out. She got a crazy, Dean Koontz-Highway smile about her face. I trellised my way across & the, her she came.
Normally when I had crossed a kid on the monkey bars, we squeezed right past one another. Not this time.
Her eyes locked with mine.
Her curly head of hair looked like a sprawling clump of tangled seaweed & fishing net, ready to take me in.
The foam at her mouth looked as if she would like to chew on my bones.
And her legs, propelled by her body weight, swung fervently.
I scurried my pads to one side of the bars...
She kicked, growled, swung & snarled her jagged little face at mine.
'What are you doing?'
Spiddle was flying through the air...like her hair and her feet...but no real words.
I wasn't scared...I was shocked.
I could have kicked back.
I could have yelled.
Instead I waited...which seemed to do nothing but further entice this rabid kid.
Sometimes we pick our battles and sometimes they pick us.
Sometimes we just gotta let go.
So I simply let go of those bars.
Feet safely in the sand I looked up & could see her flailing in joy that she had won her little war.
I surveyed my surrounding.
A war zone...an unkempt zoo...a keeping ground for rabid beasts.
I walked out the same way I walked in, less Kimbies hand.
On the walk home, I felt my hair sashaying across my shoulders & began to feel the magic again.
Standing at the stop light, waiting for the light change, I noticed my shadow had grown shorter.
I didn't go home...nope, now on this first day of education.
Instead I went to the Big Old Oak Tree.
I climbed up into it and made my way to the branch that laid a canapy over our brick road...
I laid there all day, soaking up my lessons of the day...
Sometimes we pick our battles & sometimes they pick us.

One jar, One Cup, One Bag & A Forgotten Spoon

'True Story' Artwork by Sister Singleton

Working with what we have...
Six bare feet padded out the side door and over the splintery porch. Virginia toted a jar, Shania had one plastic cup and I carried a yellow bag.
That left one free hand to harness ourselves up with.
One foot at a time, one girl at a time...we climbed up onto the railing that was more wood than paint.
Up on tippity-toes, we stretched, hoisted and pulled... until all three of us were up there.
Armed with our peasant-girl smock-dress gowns, our bare feet, one jar, one cup, a yellow bag & the rising sun...we thought we were ready.
'Shit' flew from Shanias' seven year-old mouth.
'What?'
'We need a spoon.'
'A Spoon?!'
'Yeah, we gotta have a spoon!'
'Yeah, I guess we do.'
'Skinny, you got the longest legs. You get it.'
'Ok, be right back.'
Sun still rising, toes stretching, grasping, reaching, feeling for that rail, I climb back off the roof... much more difficult than the other way around.
Finally down, I look through the sliding glass doors.
Hmmmm... adults... making coffee, better not go there.
So I scurry back to my house & quietly slip through side entry & then through the swinging kitchen door.
The house is dark, except one lonesome light in the front room.
I could smell the coffee & hear the flipping of the newspaper.
Ut-oh... he's up. I swore that man awoke with the wee hour thud of that paper hitting dewey grass without fail!
I slid open our silverware drawer....why can't we be like other people who have all their spoons and forks neatly separated and stacked in their designated slots? Why must they be in a heap, scattered & cock-eyed like a pixie tornado had occurred in the drawer?
Ugh...'Pick-up-sticks experience,' I commanded myself, 'Come Into Play!'
Slivering, sliding...I stole one kitchen spoon and quickly exited the same way I came.
I ran three doors down to the base of the splintery porch steps & looked, again, through the sliding glass door.
Coast was clear.
Toes wrapped, yet again, around and over that rough old railing, I caught a glimpse of the TV screen inside.
I bent and peered....the back side of two adult heads. Perfect.
Armed with the coveted spoon, I hauled my skinny butt back up on that roof.
We climbed to the peak of that split level house & perched ourselves like birds on a wire.
We opened the yellow bag and poured into the cup.
We used the spoon to scoop out of the jar and mix it all together.
We started with loving spoonfuls, but the Florida sun soon baked down upon us

Singleton,2006

on that black top roof.
From birds on a wire, to eggs in the skillet.
We thought better that we peeled ourselves out of our smock dress gowns, which proved to serve best as seat pads and napkins anyway...
and we dug our dirty little fingers into the little plastic cup....
smiling deliciously.
You see, before Reese's Peanut Butter Cup were of my world, this was it....
Virgina, Shania & me...
Nestle tollhouse chips & globs of peanut butter, melting & all mixed up in a cup.

Silently following my sisters footprints...
In sands, splinters & rails we'd never crossed before
a little Hippie Parade underway...
The roof became our stage...