Monday, again?

This morning I woke up ala Groundhog Day thinking it was Monday. I ran through the whole list in my head of all the things and all the places I had to be. It was exhausting. I should know, in reality, I collapsed into bed last night weary from the day and glad that it was done for the week. Mondays in our household are manic.

As a child, I did what all the other children did from our neighborhood did: went to a school in our town, did activities in our town, and played, yes, played with the other neighborhood children. All ten of us played together. It was delightful for our parents. They openned the door and a bus took us to school. They opened a door and a  bus took us home. They opened a door and the piano teacher arrived. They opened a door and bid us good day in the morning. They opened a door at dusk and called our named. The door. That is what I remember most from my childhood. The open invitation of the door to new adventures and the bike to an innocent freedom.

We were the last innocent generation. We were older when Atari introduced it's first video games. We were intrigued with our state of the art cable television channel changer with its long cord and slide changer. We listened to the radio and 8 Tracks. We loved our vynyl and were not too sure about the new fangled cassette tapes. We knew of computers, but none of us had one. We either wrote it by hand or typed it out. We had to learn how to, gasp, spell, because there was no spell check back then. Sometimes, I wish my children lived when I did. They can't even phathom a day with out a cell phone...I think they would pass out if they had to listen to AM radio...