Once several issues were settled in 1988–my exit from the world of business, Michael’s entry into the larger world, and enjoying a rise in our income due to the big commission we got via “the birds,” our family enjoyed peace. However, this was a peace of a certain kind. The three of us endured some painful situations and now it was time to enjoy everyday life; also, we became what we called a “functional” family. We had family meetings if something troubling came up; the three of us loved to be together. Michael and I enjoyed certain activities; Peter and Michael had their own kind of fun, and finally Peter and I hired a babysitter to come every Sunday evening so we could go out on “date night.” It was all lovely and I know that those six years are a part of me. I’ll never lose them.
We lived in an odd little corner of Media, PA, right over the boundary line of Upper Providence Township. Glen Providence Park sat with its entrance only yards from our home. You could enter the park, walk through it, then end up in the town of Media proper. When we first moved to this place the park was an atrocious dumping ground of all kinds of garbage–I remember seeing old refrigerators down there in the deepest part. However, somehow money was appropriated and the park was made beautiful. It really was a lovely walk–I still miss it–but I miss it mostly because Michael and I took walks there.
To enter this park you would walk down on wooden stairs into a huge ravine and reach the floor of the divide. In the middle a pond sat, shimmering. Surrounded by trees, wildflowers, and shrubs, listening to birdsong, you would feel removed from suburban-town life. You could feel the quiet. Michael and I enjoyed this many times. We crossed the bottom of the park, then climbed the big hill, after which we found ourselves at the end of State Street, the street where all the stores were. There was a little candy store on State Street where we would go for something nice to eat. State Street is a circus now, more stores and restaurants crowded in together, continual traffic. In those days it was quieter. As we crossed the streets, Michael and I, we would hold hands. He didn’t mind holding my hand when crossing streets until he reached the age of 9 when he went through a sudden, awesome growth spurt that knocked Peter and myself back on our heels.
Those times retain a dreamy quality. It was simple–it was beautiful–it was full of love and joy. These are the times I hold in my heart.
lgmwriting 