It’s day three of Everyday Inspiration. Today I had to pick a word from a list of 5 or 7 and have that be my inspiration. I chose the word “love.”
Even as a kid my favorite flower were pansies. They just look happy. Like they are smiling. Seeing that flower reminds of chilly afternoons with me riding my bike in front of our house watching Mom and Dad plant pansies in the front yard. The mountains visible from our house are snow capped and although the air is nippy, I’m warm in my sweatshirt.
I think it’s the nostalgia I like. Besides it being a pretty flower.
Last year I got a pansy growing kit for Christmas. Mom saw it as one of Oprah’s Favorite Things. It’s kind of creepy, but you can grow flowers in mason jars. The seeds were planted a couple of weeks ago, and now I have my flower children.
As you can see, they have a lot of growing to do, but I already know the pot they’ll go in; it’s high up, away from somebody’s nosy paws, but directly in view from my bedroom. Every time I see my pansies all of those nice childhood memories will come back.
Brought upon by a flower.
My sister’s boyfriend works for ESPN. Since Disney is their parent company, he gets passes to Disneyland a few times a year. Oh, darn. Mom, Dad, and I used them over the summer. We just went to walk around, though did go on a few rides. I asked to go on Small World. Dad grumbled, but obliged.
I obviously can’t get into a boat. There is one with a lift, but it was being used at the time. It was 4:55. As the clock ticked, I wondered how in the world the employees did it. That thing would drive me crazy. Eight hours!?
Our boat came before five. As we floated along, listening to that song, which I was extremely annoyed to have in my head when I went to sleep hours later, I started noticing things. As all of the dolls sang, their “jaws” would clack, the outfits looked a little tired, and when you looked over the boat’s railing you saw all the mechanics beneath the dolls.
I was a tad disappointed seeing that, as I said, that was my favorite ride as a kid. There was “Disney Magic” at work. But as an adult, you become wise to it. Wouldn’t it be nice to keep that childlike innocence all of our lives?
I was born in the eighties. Hair was high and the “fashions” left something to be desired. The nineties weren’t much better fashion wise, but the nineties were where I spent my childhood.
I am about to turn 33 (how is that possible!?) and for readers around my age, I thought I’d take you on a journey along memory lane.
Do you remember:
- Sturrip pants
- American Girl dolls (My sister is always looking to make a quick buck. She wants to put hers on Craigslist, but Mom refuses.)
- “Where’s Waldo”
- Polly Pocket
- Mini backpacks
- Friendship bracelets
- The Oregon Trail game
- Sanrio Surprises
What are some of your childhood favorites?
Erin the Picnic, Kelley the Hula Girl, and Sarah the Bag of Jelly Belly’s.
Ah, Halloween. It was the one night when bedtimes didn’t matter (within reason), and a sugar rush was acceptable—almost expected. And for one night you could experience being somebody other than yourself.
Then comes the year when you stop trick-or-treating altogether (I was probably in junior high). I felt so grown up—trick-or-treating was so juvenile! But being on candy patrol wasn’t as much fun, as it turned out.
Today, HALLOWEEN, PERIOD, even if I dressed up, just isn’t the same. There are just too many creeps who are ready to “pounce” on unsuspecting children partaking in an innocent pre-November tradition. You see on the news the stupid people hiding razors and things in candy or lacing it with drugs.
I know I sound like an old geezer, but I miss the innocent days. My sisters and I got costume ideas from American Girl magazine, Dad was the designated pumpkin carver, and a fun-size Reese’s Cup made my night.
I’m now 32 and my sisters in their late 20s. I’m positive they would wholeheartedly agree when I say I wish I appreciated those days of trick-or-treating, when my only problem was which candy bar to eat first.
I had no idea about what, I just felt like writing today. I guess you can call this a post about nothing. Actually I have a point; it’s just not the most important.
What’s your favorite season? I am a warm-weather person. I love summer. Feeling 95+ temperatures on my skin and looking out my French doors and seeing the backyard full of color is my favorite. I have wonderful summertime memories: Playing in the sprinklers (this was obviously before the drought), riding bikes after dinner, and also after dinner visiting with Mary, the elderly woman across the street. So sweet, but as with lots of old people, she could be cranky. Mary would be puffing on her cigarette, while complaining our very uppity next-door neighbors.
About September, though, I was ready for winter. I had grown sick of my summer wardrobe, but would need it for at least another month. I would look at sweaters and long to wear them. I was tired of hearing the air conditioner click on longed for the dead-skin smell of the heater the first time it’s turned on for the season.
I guess you could me fickle. But I guess I shouldn’t complain. It is currently 9:48 a.m. It is 73 degrees, but there’s supposed to be a high of 92. People in other parts of the country would kill for such weather! I am in the backyard, the sky is bright blue, the plants are full of color, and Maggie is taking a nap in the shade.
No sweater needed this morning!
I guess I shouldn’t complain about my wardrobe—maybe sweaters are overrated.