Pieces of Eight

Aaarrrrrrgh!

Ye be wealthy, indeed, Master Jim Hawkins! You've got pieces of eight to delight Long John Silver.

Lucky me to be wealthier than thee, Jim Hawkins. I am grandmother to a lovely girl-child who IS eight! She celebrated being herself this past weekend, and shared the wealth of her humor, graciousness, and tender kindness with six of her gal pals of similar age. They swam, they ate, they played a child appropriate version of Dungeons and Dragons with the help of her Dungeon Master father. They ate more, watched an age appropriate movie, slept very little, and in the morning, they made slime. Slime is made with Elmer's White Glue and Liquid Laundry Detergent. Ooshy gooshy slime! Such fun,

One of the best gifts her weekend celebration gave me was a party with the child's mother, and our younger daughter and new son-in-love from Grover Beach. Lovely visits.

Another gift: Recollecting what it was like to be eight.

Memory meanders. But IF it serves...  I think it was 1956 when my folks built a playhouse for me and I was given a black cat named Eight Ball. He had a white spot over his purr box. The slab of cement with handprints on it that served as the doorstep to that playhouse is dated 1952 when I was only four years old. Perhaps my folks were forward thinking and made the doorstep four years before use?

I do remember playing in that playhouse. I think I was older than four when it was finished. It had a sleeping loft and a workbench that served as kitchen area, desk, and eating table. Once, one of my brother's thirteen rabbits went missing and was found with a swelled head upside down inside the wall of the play house. We massaged his head back into shape and he seemed to be OK until we took them all to Great Uncle Ed who was a butcher. I couldn't bring myself to eat dinner that night at my Grammy Maxwell's house where Uncle Ed lived with her, nor dinner any night after that if it came from our overstocked-with-white-freezer-paper-wrapped-bunnies. I was sad for a long time.

I remember roller skating and having to sweep up all the eucalyptus pods so the metal wheels wouldn't stop short and throw me flat down on the red cement patio. I remember playing with Peter and Angelika Fox, Jeffrey Killen, Gary Davis, and Glen Gillis. We had dirt-clod fights, played Mother May I, Red Rover, Red Rover, Bombs Over Tokyo, and Kick the Can. Hide and Seek was the fall back, most important game and we played it well past twilight - swatting mosquitoes as we called out Olly olly oxen all in free. I can still remember the good scents of sunshine, grass stains, and sweat, and the acrid smell of iodine on skinned knees.

How very different is my granddaughter's life from the one I lived in the wild hills of Echo Park near downtown Los Angeles. She must make dates to play with other busy children her age. Her time is spent at three different homes: his, hers and ours. Mama's house at least has children in the neighborhood. Dad's house is isolated, walled off, and has a security fence all around it. No kids live nearby that I've ever seen. Our home has a handy nine year old boy across the street who often comes to play. He's great with scooters, skateboards, and bikes. She's good with horses which are only available during her weekly riding lesson. Still, Anthony and Miss D find plenty of common ground and points of interest to be creative together and play.

Play is the greatest wealth, is it not?

All things are possible in play.

Viva Play. Viva being eight years old. Viva communities that create safe places for the children to play. Cat Stevens reminded us to safeguard those places where PLAY can happen. Those places are GOLD.