"WHERE?"
It's Saturday but where's American Bandstand?
It's Saturday & the sun is trying to break through the clouds and fog. It's not a good day to hang the clothes outside on the clothesline or dig for clams or have a picnic or go skinny dipping or paint the fence or lay under the dark sky to think.
So I 'think' as I gaze outside the window of my home; I'm older now, not old. I 'think' as I fold laundry and iron and make beds and vacuumn. I 'think' about Saturdays long ago when I was young........
I loved to sleep in late and awake to the smells of my mother's baking and cleaning and the sound of her humming as she worked. I loved to hear my father working outside with his animals or fixing a broken wagon wheel or tending to all of the necessary jobs he had to do in the big field.
I would stretch and yawn and not have a care in the world other than where to go, with whom, when. Usually on Saturday, I'd go to the show to see a movie, meet up with girlfriends and walk the roads; and talk, always TALK!
When I was younger, Saturdays were loved when I could spend time playing with our dog, Sandy or playing hopskotch or marbles or hula hoop or ball. I spent many happy hours tagging along behing my older sister and brother, promising that if they'd allow me to follow them, I'd not tell tales on them for the pranks they pulled frequently.
Oh, Saturday....where art thou?
I long for a dog to snuggle up with; a tent to climb into; someone to play a card game like Muggins with; someone to pick guitar or blueberries with me; someone to say "Hey, Hed, wanna go swimmin' in the river after lunch?"
I look back at those golden, olden Saturdays as if it was Utopia. I loved my parents, my pets, my friends, my home-made toys, myself. I dreamed only sweet dreams; I didn't know what a real nightmare was; I was unafraid; I was brave; I was safe.
Then, suddenly, life happened. Saturdays now are just one day of the week. What happened to Annette Funicllo, Elvis, the Hardy Boys, the Bobbsey Twins, Roy Rogers & Gene Autry, Little Women, Nancy Drew? Heidi!
I want to ride my bicycle without hands; I want to ice skate on the frozen ponds, I want to ride our horse bareback, I walk to kick the can, I want to eat molasses & home-made bread, I want to smell beans baking, I want to eat fresh vegetables, fresh mackeral, I want to read Lulu and Tubby, I want to sing as I swing, I want to go parking, I want to .......
I want to......
It's Saturday; where's Dick Clark? Where's Frankie Avalon? Dion? Connie Francis? Elvis!
I want to think; I want to be 16 again; I want to know....
Where's American Bandstand?
It's Saturday but where's American Bandstand?
It's Saturday & the sun is trying to break through the clouds and fog. It's not a good day to hang the clothes outside on the clothesline or dig for clams or have a picnic or go skinny dipping or paint the fence or lay under the dark sky to think.
So I 'think' as I gaze outside the window of my home; I'm older now, not old. I 'think' as I fold laundry and iron and make beds and vacuumn. I 'think' about Saturdays long ago when I was young........
I loved to sleep in late and awake to the smells of my mother's baking and cleaning and the sound of her humming as she worked. I loved to hear my father working outside with his animals or fixing a broken wagon wheel or tending to all of the necessary jobs he had to do in the big field.
I would stretch and yawn and not have a care in the world other than where to go, with whom, when. Usually on Saturday, I'd go to the show to see a movie, meet up with girlfriends and walk the roads; and talk, always TALK!
When I was younger, Saturdays were loved when I could spend time playing with our dog, Sandy or playing hopskotch or marbles or hula hoop or ball. I spent many happy hours tagging along behing my older sister and brother, promising that if they'd allow me to follow them, I'd not tell tales on them for the pranks they pulled frequently.
Oh, Saturday....where art thou?
I long for a dog to snuggle up with; a tent to climb into; someone to play a card game like Muggins with; someone to pick guitar or blueberries with me; someone to say "Hey, Hed, wanna go swimmin' in the river after lunch?"
I look back at those golden, olden Saturdays as if it was Utopia. I loved my parents, my pets, my friends, my home-made toys, myself. I dreamed only sweet dreams; I didn't know what a real nightmare was; I was unafraid; I was brave; I was safe.
Then, suddenly, life happened. Saturdays now are just one day of the week. What happened to Annette Funicllo, Elvis, the Hardy Boys, the Bobbsey Twins, Roy Rogers & Gene Autry, Little Women, Nancy Drew? Heidi!
I want to ride my bicycle without hands; I want to ice skate on the frozen ponds, I want to ride our horse bareback, I walk to kick the can, I want to eat molasses & home-made bread, I want to smell beans baking, I want to eat fresh vegetables, fresh mackeral, I want to read Lulu and Tubby, I want to sing as I swing, I want to go parking, I want to .......
I want to......
It's Saturday; where's Dick Clark? Where's Frankie Avalon? Dion? Connie Francis? Elvis!
I want to think; I want to be 16 again; I want to know....
Where's American Bandstand?
1 comment:
Heather, I love this. It reflects my own thoughts that have frequently roamed through my consciousness. Capturing the relentless movement of time, time that is so unstoppable; memories need words, words that talk to each other. Thanks for sharing your thoughts.
Dick
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