Nostalgia

The only explanation I can give for posting two blogs right in a row like this is that I'm supposed to be writing a paper right now. So ya.
The following is an exercise we did in my writing class: we had to draw a map of the earliest neighborhood/house/yard that we lived in and remembered, and then write about a scene that the map reminded you of. As I sketched the lines of my old backyard, where I spent 7 wonderfully happy years from the ages of 2 - 9, scads of memories came flooding back to me like "memories from a dream," as Anastasia would say. There were so many that I couldn't decide which one to write about! But I finally chose this one: (please keep in mind that this was an in-class activity, so there was absolutely no proofreading or revision involved :p)

We just ate dinner. The dishes are washed and it's time for dessert. The sun is setting. Mom grabs a box of Klondikes from the freezer. Dad takes the lawn chairs from the playhouse where they're stored. We all walk up the hill, past the swingset and the garden. Tiny white petals float from the crab-apple tree in Florence's yard, the one she doesn't mind if we climb. It looks like snow, but the air is warm, the earth giving off the heat of the day in a gentler, softer way. We reach the top. Mom and Dad sit in the lawn chairs. We kids sit on the grass. Or stand. Mom hands out the Klondikes. I unwrap mine completely and hold it with both hands, the chocolate already melting on my fingertips. I try to be neat but it's absolutely hopeless. Melted ice cream dribbles down my hands, my face. I decide I don't actually like Klondikes very much. But it doesn't matter. I look up to see our neighborhood spread out before us like a magic carpet, bathed in the pink and orange glow of the setting sun.