Audio books are fun in the car.  I'm currently listening to something called "Don't Miss Your Life" which seems like good advice and is read by the author in a perky voice.  One of the challenges thrown out there as I wended my way home from a gain at Weight Watchers (never good for my mood) was to "think about your happiest childhood memory."  The first thing that came to mind was an enormous cardboard box which had contained a refrigerator.  It became, in turn, a house (complete with "curtains"), a train with an empty coffee can chimney,and after my brother and  I upended it, it became a store.  We sold mud pies, made from the backyard dirt.  There was no garden and very little grass  We grew up in the city in a three-decker house and my grandparents lived next door in a one bedroom apartment.  The stairs on their fire escape became the "shelves" for the mud pies.  I suspect that we broke several fire department regulations that day, but it all turned out well, as most things we worry about do.  We played for hours and days with that box until eventually the rains turned it into mush.

When I think of my sons' childhood, it is largely populated with plastic toys marked "Fisher Price", a fine company and the source of many hours of enjoyment.  I've already told you about the pirate ships and castles which will outlive all of us and may, someday, make it out of my attic and into homes of their own.  But I wonder if they missed out on something.  Most kids today are proficient at computers and video games, and can program an iPod, an iPad, and the Space Shuttle from the age of three on, but given a long summer afternoon with an electrical outage I wonder what they would do.  The pace of "Sesame Street" and life in general has produced a generation that is not very good at doing nothing.  Or at doing something simple and non-electronic.  There were the occasional "forts" made out of kitchen chairs and bed sheets (mostly when Auntie Lynnie babysat), but not a lot of going into the back yard (or "back of the 'ard" as Son Number One called it rather endearingly) to just "hang out".  I'm rather sorry about that.  Oh, they read like fiends and even wrote their own books but I don't remember a single over-sized cardboard box in their entire life that wasn't dutifully taken apart and recycled on trash day.

One of my favorite pictures of Son Number Two has him lying on his back in the middle of a field, legs casually crossed, arms under his head, and just staring at the sky watching the kites.  He wasn't worried about dirt, bugs, or dog poop.  He was enjoying the tickle of the grass and the colors darting across the ridiculously blue sky.  I don't know about you, but I think that sounds like a brilliant idea.  And I think I know where to find a kite!

It be "Talk Like  A Pirate" day!  There be many annoyin' varmints who be talkin' all day like a parrot be sittin' on their shoulder and they be deep in the grog, and by noon I be makin' them all walk the plank!  Oh good heaven, that's enough of that nonsense!  I was first introduced to TLAP Day by my children who find this endlessly entertaining.  I feel really sorry for their professors today, because I'm not sure either of them will be able to turn it off just because they are going to (very expensive) college.

Pirates have a long history at our house.  It started when Son Number One was three and Santa brought the Fisher Price Pirate Ship.  Then came the Castle.  The next year Santa brought Son Number Two the new and improved Pirate Ship.  Then the new and improved Talking Castle.  All of this, along with more toys than Macy's has in stock for Christmas, filled what would be a den in a normal house. Walking through the room was interesting, because the chance of getting hit with a flying plastic cannon ball was very high, and it didn't matter if you were family or honored guest, you were a target. At one point Himself and the boys made "pirate hard tack", which were disgusting cookies or biscuits or something made to the actual recipe that the pirates used.  Happily, they left out the maggots which usually took the place of sprinkles that adorn better tasting cookies.  They turned out interesting rather than tasty, and were tossed into the trash after one information seeking bite.

The ships and castles are in the attic waiting for the boys to get apartments and lives of their own.  The population of little pirates and ghosts and dragons and knights are tucked into plastic boxes awaiting the next generation.  There are still two small pirate flags on either side of the bay window, and my husband's toy box from his childhood, covered with 1960's pirates and ships and flags, is serving as a coffee table. We still call it "The Pirate Room". 

It's another day when I miss having the boys at home.  Himself is working at home today, but he doesn't have the pirate knack.  His brother, who lives in Alaska, is an expert, but he's not here.  So I be talkin' to meself today and missin' the bairn (who be all grown up) and realizin' how important be tradition.  I be surprised every day at the silly things I be missin'!  Arrrrggghh.