I am writing snippets for my memoir, and I keep coming up with the same theme: the many times we moved during my childhood. My connecting thread seems to be residences we lived in, which always leads me back to my playhouse, or as I like to call it, My Great Escape.
Although I was a very assertive 10 year old (okay, bossy) my playhouse, a back porch, was the only "home" where I was in charge when my parents' marriage was unraveling and nothing seemed certain.
Did you have a playhouse?
Although I was a very assertive 10 year old (okay, bossy) my playhouse, a back porch, was the only "home" where I was in charge when my parents' marriage was unraveling and nothing seemed certain.
Did you have a playhouse?
9 comments:
No, but there was an old shed where a mower and rakes were stored. It has a great door open at the bottom and two windows just like a house. Loved playing house in there....eps. on a rainy day when it was a little chilly. It felt safe and I had to be strong to soothe the doll babies when it thundered!!!
As far as a playhouse, I didn't have one, but my sisters and brothers and I used to drape a sheet over the divanette (what we now call a couch) in the front room (aka the living room)and make a tent.
Yes, Linda. My father built me a playhouse, attached to our garage.
It is one of the happiest memories of my entire childhood.
I kept all my dolls in there in the summer and I had more than two dozen of them! Some had arms or legs missing (I collected them from anywhere) and one, as I recall, had no head! Just a torso. (Weird.)
Oh, how I loved playing in that little house, built with love.
At night, every doll said a prayer! That is a LOT of prayers. ha haha A mini holy roller. hahaha
Thanks for the memories. Susan
I had the same experience as Donna. We'd drape a blanket or sheet to create our very own tent.
Pat
Critter Alley
My dad used to work for Southwestern Bell, before it got split up and recombined. He was able to snag a wooden crate that was used to ship a telephone booth. The sides were more like slats than solid.
We laid that crate down longways in my next-door grandpa's back yard, and played in it all summer. We laid short sections of 2x4s across the top like a Lincoln logs in a square turret-like entrance. That crate was a tank, a submarine, a bunker, a fort. A fantastic time was had by all. Not a doll in sight. Lots of boys on my block.
I guess my playhouse was wherever I was playing... in our basement, in a tree, at the schoolyard. Laughed at your previous post about hubby and the GPS, and the post previous about demanding respect - I agree with you. Looking forward to Tuesday!
I had a very homemade one, and you rekindled some wonderful memories. I'm glad you're working on your memoir!
I didn't have a playhouse, but I used to build houses. With many, many, building blocks and large thin books for roofs, thicker books for floors, I made mansions.
No, I didn't have a playhouse, but I did often climb the maple tree in my back yard and claim it as my own personal space. :)
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