I’ve recently struggled with inspiration (and time) to write, what I would consider, more “complete” Moth-style, slice-of-life stories. I found a list of memoir-writing prompts and made a commitment (to myself) to take 20 minutes before starting my day to write. Starting at the top of the list, I’ve been making it happen (for at least 5 days, so far). Some of these 20-minute musings may develop into more “Mini-Slice” or even complete stories, but I’m staying open to see where they take me.

I lie in my bed, the cool cotton sheets wrapping around me, feeling both satisfied and hungry for more: perhaps my first experience with paradox.  I feel at peace: whole & complete, but I want more of the warm, fresh summer air and the freedom of playing outside – bare feet on the soft grass and giggling with the neighbours.  It’s summer of 1986 and I am 6 years old.  In many ways, my life resembles a scene ripped from a sitcom like The Wonder Years.  It’s like we’re Kevin Arnold’s cousins that you just didn’t know about or see on screen – but living almost a parallel existence: discovering life, tasting freedom, making mistakes but finding the joy.

Summer was maybe my first love.  Long hours of daylight.  Sunlight kissing my fair skin and my mom eagerly reapplying sunscreen.  Growing up in a small town in Wisconsin at age 6 was almost as perfect as it gets.  I had a gang of kids on the block where we lived and we had the freedom – even at ages 6 or 7, to be mostly left to our own imaginations during the long, summer days.  Biking to the city pool to swim all day, creating our own mini stage plays of classic fairy-tales (where we’d have to recruit one of the neighbour brothers, against his will, to be the prince), or even just rolling down the large grassy hill in my backyard.  Bare feet and freedom.  Fresh air and nature.

I remember the first time when my mom agreed to let me bike all the way to Main Street with the kids from the block – just kids, no parents, to order and eat pizza at The Village Inn.  She gave me $5 and told me to be careful.  I put on my favourite striped t-shirt (with a print that resembled a vintage style billboard for peaches) and my jean skirt – ready for my night out on the town.  Being that it was probably 5 pm, it was brilliantly sunny and we were home before 6:30, but that taste of summer adventure was magical.

Back in my bed, I’m still vibrating with the energy… it’s still light out, as the summer daylight hours in the Midwest stretch until 9:30 pm or even later.  So even with the bedroom shades pulled, the windows are open to let in the cooling night air, and the twilight seeps into the edges.  I can hear some of the neighbours still laughing and talking and I feel those first pangs of longing.  Why can they continue to soak in the summer when I’m confined to my bed?

Eventually I drift to sleep.