Not sure if it's because I walked into a cloud of gnats while walking with Sara today, but I was suddenly shot back in time to the late 60's. There we were, my cousin Chris and I, riding bikes around Lake Sacajawea. How old were we, 11? 12?
Sister Karen had wanted company during the summer, while her husband Ken was fishing in Alaska. I'm not positive, but I believe my nephew was just a baby at that time. To keep the antsy, long limbed, pre-teens occupied, Karen had offered us their bikes to ride. Bikes for me equaled FREEDOM. Lovely, glorious freedom! I remember how we tried to ride around the lake at least once a day, until she reminded me that she had wanted us there for company. Oops!
One day, Karen, pulled out her oil paints, a print of Van Gogh's, "Vase with Twelve Sunflowers", and two smallish canvases for Chris and I. She proceeded to give the two of us a lesson and then directed us while we attempted to paint. Chris, always with more artistic talent than I, was given more attention (rightfully so!). When Karen turned to my side of the table, she was stymied as to why I had painted the multi-colored flowers all pink or gold. "Because they are?" Both Chris and I inherited the Weeks' color deficiency gene.
I remember how we slept on Karen's couch, heads at north and south--bristley adolescent legs keeping each other awake. And, I'm not sure why she ever left us alone-- those prank calls. Kids today are so deprived, no thanks to caller ID.
Thanks for the sweet memories, cousin!
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