My Boys

My Boys

I’d lost the number. I’d wanted a family weekend off. I’d been complaining about how long it had been since we’d had some family time. Then Anna told me about this great place they’d gone to a few weeks before.

She said the place had a small hotel and acres of woods to explore. I was going to talk to the family that night. It would be lovely to get away. As I sat there, I started imagining the place. A lovely room, well two… Jeff was old enough to need his own room. And wonderful walks in the woods… Huh… I was not so excited about walks in woods. Bugs, trees… not my favorite.

The more I thought about it the worse it sounded. Woods, bugs, most of our time apart because of the two rooms. I suddenly remembered us camping in the back yard when Jeff was small. We roasted marshmallows, slept all tangled up in our small tent. It was fun. I had a picture of it somewhere… Suddenly I needed to find it and put it in a frame.

Two hours later I had gathered plenty for a collage of that night. I had three pictures, one of the tent in the back yard, Jeff holding a feather he’d found, and one of he and his Dad trying to start a fire. Now that’s what I call a memory. Who needs the woods!

When Jeff saw it, he suddenly wanted to do it again, and his dad jumped on the chance!
We barely fit in the tent, but had a wonderful cookout and actually slept like logs. I made a collage of that night too, similar to the first one.

Seventy years later they still hang on my wall. I look at them daily. My boys.