Come Fly with Me

When I was a little girl, one of the best winter past times was tobogganing.  I never got cold going up and down that hill.  Mom and Dad took us to a special hill that seemed almost like a mountain: a hill with no name attached, a hill that I can no longer find, a hill where I could fly like the wind.

Getting ready was the hard part:  putting on woolen snow-pants and coats; scarves underneath and knitted hats and mittens.  I sure was happy Mom put those strings on my mittens, ’cause I never had to worry about finding them; a mitten in each sleeve, just dangling there waiting for my hands.  Somebody shoulda came up with something like that for hats.  Hats were a lot harder to keep track of then mittens. Last, I pulled my rubber boots over my shoes and fastened the elastic string around the button at the side.  Man-o-man,  those boots were hard to get on.  Sometimes, my foot went in crooked and the boot stuck, refusing to go on or pull off.  The only thing worse than that was trying to help a Little Kid get his boots on, with his leg all dangly and useless; pointing when it should go straight, ankles all wobbly.

Finally, everybody was ready.  Mom even got baby Julie all bundled up so tight, she just looked like a bundle of blankets:  first the receiving blanket all swaddled around tight.  Then she wrapped one of those fuzzy blankets with the silky binding around tight, Julie in the middle and Continue reading