I was thinking back to the days of my youth. I grew up in Falmouth, Massachusetts, before the rapid growth and over-building. Back when it was a small town and a great place to live and grow up.
The first house I lived in was on Clipper Lane. It was a nice house and I had my own room.
But more often than not I would find myself sleeping in my sister’s bed in the morning. Nightmares and sleepwalking.
I had a brother and a sister. My brother and I weren’t very close. My sister and I were and still are.
My brother was much older then I and I think he just sort of resented this cute little kid running around the house trying to be a part of everything.
My room was over the kitchen and the back door. I could see everyone come in or go out and I could also listen to the voices of my parents talking at the table there. Sometimes good talk, sometimes bad. But I could always know what was happening.
The great thing about my room was the storm windows. They were the old fashioned kind that was fit on for the winter and then taken off and a screen would be put on for the summer.
In the winter I could put up the window and sit with my feet on the radiator and keep them warm while I played with my Barbie dolls. The window sill area was their “loft apartment” with tissue boxes for beds or sofas and thimbles for stools or lamps.
My cousin Janet and my sister played with me too. We would play for hours and hours. Back in the ’60s when Janet and I played, my dolls would be Paul and Linda McCartney and hers would be Mick and Bianca Jagger. For hours and hours, we escaped into this wonderful world.
We made clothes for the dolls too. Out of scrap material from my mother’s sewing supplies. I remember seeing my Barbie’s looking like a real glamour Queen, even though I am sure the outfits were terribly designed and badly sewn.
But to Janet and me it didn’t matter.