Picking Flowers, Collecting Trash

I was a daydreamer drifter when I was about six years old, and that may not have been a good thing.

Back in 1956 in Cleveland Heights children could walk the mile alone to school through the neighborhood and I would explore on the way home. Every yard was a mystery and every house was to be investigated. That was at least 50 houses by estimate now. I bet I knew every stone and brick, every crevice over that year.

Another interest I had was gardens, and the flowers in them were apparently for sharing because I would bring one or two home everyday throughout the springtime to my mother, Sue. She probably was trying her best to curtail that behavior, but I finally won her over one day with a big bunch of tuplips from our side yard by the driveway.

The best outdoor activity at the time, in my six-year-old estimation, was trash day. This was not garbage day, but once a week people put clearance from basements and attics on their lawns for pickup. In order to get a head start on the crew coming by truck, I left the house somewhere around 6 a.m. in the dark to pick through the treasures. I came home with assortments of things I would put in my upstairs glassed-in porch that was my personal space for thinking and working. Sue, and my dad Rodger, really wanted me to stop going out of the house before they were awake, but I just could not see the logic in that - how would I get these special items if I did not get outside before the trash collectors!

Life as a child was an adventure always and it still makes me happy to this day to take simple steps to observe the wonderful world around me and all of its mysteries.