Saturday, July 11, 2009

Why I want a Yard

I was just talking with Blake about how, when we have a yard, I want to build a tree house. For me. For us. No, we don't have to have kids yet.

My friend Megan had a tree house in her back yard in Seattle. Her dad had built it for her. It was basically just a wood platform in a mid-sized tree, but it was awesome. It had a rope ladder. I had a lot of trouble getting up that rope ladder. I must not have been too coordinated back then, because it usually took me two or three tries to climb up into the fort, and when I finally pulled myself on up there, it took some real convincing for me to get down as I knew I wouldn't be able to climb back up again.

Megan had no trouble with the rope ladder and could go up and down at her leisure.

So, I left her to get the otter pops and various other snacks and sneak them from the kitchen for the both of us, while I laid on my back on the platform, wondering how long I could postpone having to struggle down the ladder again. How embarrassing.

We loved it up there. It was our secret club. It was where we'd watch over the alley-way and spy on the neighbors. It was also where we came up with our money-making schemes and other adventures.

One Saturday we got the idea (probably sparking from something we'd watched in TGIF the night before) that we could make ourselves rich if we sold home-made perfume. We went around the neighborhood searching for rose pedals and honey suckle (or anything else we thought smelled good) and put all our findings in a jar full of water. Then we let it sit.

A couple of hours later (we were going to let it sit all day, but who were we kidding, we were impatient to become rich) we took the box of Dixie cups from under the bathroom sink and doled out individual portions of our "perfume." I can't remember if it smelled alright or not, but I do remember trying to make it look better by including some fresh rose petals in each cup.

Then we peddled our wares door-to-door. We sold the "fancy rose perfume" for 50 cents per cup to our (I realize now) very generous and understanding neighbors.

My Mom wasn't too happy with us when we told her that we'd been selling water with fermented rose petals in it for 50 cents a Dixie cup to her acquaintances. I couldn't understand at the time why she'd be at all embarrassed.

I think we only ended up with about three dollars by the end of the day, but we were happy anyway because it still made us feel wealthy enough to chase down the ice cream truck.

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