“Mommmmaaaa!!!!”, she yells.
A glimpse of scattered tresses and worn in boots dash from my view. “MaryAnn, where are you going?”, silence, “MARYANN!” Crap. Why won’t she listen? 3.5 hours in the car warranted a glance at the opened bottle of wine.
“She’s in the house tree,” Mimi calls. “Oh ok, is it done?” I ask. “Yes, finally,” Mom offers. I promise myself a full glass of red when I returned from seeing the newest project.
As I veer across the hedge of 30 foot bamboo, I see a fireman’s pole, and a flood of memories drown in my throat. These moments seem to happen more frequently now as the babies are turning into kids and living similar experiences to my own.
I see us; all skinned knobby knees, blonde straw hair in a tangled mess, and imaginations running wild. Calling “King of the Fort!!”, as we slide down the pole. Meggie, pushing Sarah on the tire swing and the reprimand for her over enthusiasm. Our friends painting their names in the plywood and the innocence of ‘BFF’.
The tree-house that had once been mine is now something new. After wear, tear, and weather the old girl was voted unsafe for grandbabies and renovated to something I saw in my conjured up fairytale realm. With a squeal almost escaping my throat I joined in with Mimi, Daddy, PapaRed, Boo, Trace, and Mawj to play “King of the Fort!” once more.
I wanted to share with you a journal entry that I had privately written down. I NEVER share, but this new imagination station deserved a little stroll down memory lane for myself, and my family. I know we all had those places, be it inside or out, that we went to for escape and peace.

