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Those Were The Days, My Friend

What a lovely way to start the week.

Memories.

I do remember those simple days. In fact, this picture could very well be my dear friend Lisa and I when we were in elementary school.

Many hours were spent practising our Olympic synchronized swing routines.

I called on Lisa early in the morning and we packed exactly the same energizing food staples in our lunch to carry us through the gruelling training hours in the heat – four peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches, ten cookies, two apples, two frozen bottles of water and enough money to buy two ice cream bars with the huge chunk of chocolate hiding inside. These were the summer days when the only non-negotiable parental rule that MUST be followed was, “Make sure you’re home in this house by the time the street lights come on or you’ll be in BIG trouble.” We begged and pleaded with Lisa’s mom to sew us some performance costumes and I must say that we strutted down that long hill feeling p-r-e-t-t-y good in our matching tutus and sparkles.

We were stunning, for sure.

Down deep in the belly of the park were four wooden seat swings, calling our names.

We moved two picnic tables to strategic places, where they could be used as mount and dismount platforms. We took turns leading the strenuous warm up exercises (which also included eating two cookies and sharing a bottle of wash-the-cookies-down cold water.)

By 8:30 am., we were standing on our picnic tables, quietly visualizing the perfect ten routine. We spent hours choreographing exquisite and complicated swing routines with twists and  hangs, bounces and flips. We soared and flexed, tucked and tried to touch the sky with our toes.

On rainy days, those puddles under the swings didn’t bother us at all – in fact, they became part of the act as we dragged our feet through the water for our finale.

Oh, how I remember those days . . . those costumes . . . those lunches . . .  and those amazing routines.

We also talked about boys here and there but we never allowed those discussions to distract us from the ultimate goal – OLYMPIC GLORY.

We practised and practised – until we and the swings were one.

We never showed anyone these routines but we “competed” in many international competitions all over the world and all through our heads.

We won every time . . .

. . . AND WE BECAME OLYMPIC SYNCHRONIZED SWINGING CHAMPIONS. 

Those were the days, indeed. Simple. Creative. Honest fun.

And we were home by the time the street lights came on.

 

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