My Inner Child

She speaks to me most loudly in the early morning hours as my eyes open and adjust to the dim lights in the room, to a new day emerging — to possibilities. She has been there all night sleeping inside me sharing my dreams hesitant to let go. Together we lift the covers and stand for a moment shivering as dreams fade away.

The coffee is brewing. Precious time is waiting to be filled. Now, before the sunlight appears, my mind is most clear, when I can focus without interruption — read stories and books and magazines, write with abandon — brainstorm ideas. Remnants of dreams pop into my head, flashes that seem surreal yet familiar. I try to remember to no avail.

There is something magical about the whiff of a new day — the air so fresh, so clean nature awakening filling the sounds of silence. Chimes are blowing in the light breeze right outside the door. My cats are meowing for breakfast. The coffee is done. I pour myself a cup and sit on the couch ready to contemplate. My inner child interrupts. Nudging my thoughts. She reminds me of a time long ago when I had little time for contemplation.

Each season possessed its own special spell. Early spring days were crisp the buds of tulips popping up promising winter was over. I changed to light jackets from coats. Bikes were parked behind the house ready for riding. Jump ropes were dug out of drawers and chalk to be used on the sidewalk for hop- scotch. The treehouse in the back yard had been anxiously awaiting company. It was a sanctuary for us kids, a place where we played cards and Candy land and Monopoly. I smiled thinking about those carefree days when the end of the school year was quickly approaching.

Plans for summer were already in the works most spent at the community swimming pool. We kids ate pretzels dipped in mustard and hot dogs drenched in ketchup. We raced each other back and forth in the water, learned how to dive off the edge of the pool, and then off the diving board. We took swimming lessons. On rainy days we stayed inside and read or watched cartoons, listened to music helped our moms bake cookies many of which would end up in our treehouse.

In August it was time to buy new clothes for all of us had grown over the summer months. The first day of school was exciting. I would get to see friends I hadn’t seen for a while, meet new kids. We were allowed to walk to school and back by ourselves in those days often stopping at the candy store stuffing our pockets with bubble gum and chocolate. Candy was only a penny a piece. As I approached my house, I could hear music playing, and when my dad had the day off, he and my mom would be dancing in the front room. The smell of vanilla and cinnamon drifted through the open windows from the candles that were always lit. My mother and my father were anxious to hear about my day.

What I loved most of all were the holidays. My mother was always baking something. She would hide cookies from my dad who was worse than us kids about gobbling them up right out of the oven. My mother and I shopped a lot already preparing for Christmas. I learned to wrap beautiful gifts the paper and ribbons often more expensive than the gifts themselves. We got out all the boxes from the basement and decorated every niche in the house. It was my dad’s job to string lights on the outside.

I remember the year I got a new sled for Christmas and my first pair of ice skates. I anxiously awaited the first big snowfall. We kids would build snow houses and a snow man giving Frosty one of my dad’s old pipes. Then off we would go to slid down hills the wind blowing in our faces screaming and laughing at the same time. I learned to ice skate on the creek down the street from our house.

I blinked. A ray of light was streaming through the window. In a flash my inner child was gone off to play her days filled differently than mine but mine no less important. I doubted she knew how priceless all those moments were because she was too busy living them. I, well I had the memories.