Lots of memories, like those of any kid: playing with friends, walking to school, riding my bike, getting into trouble. Here are some snippets from home.

Sitting on my bedroom floor dressing my new Barbie doll. I knew I wasn’t a “doll” kinda girl but my grandmother bought me one along with several beautiful outfits and I loved to change them up.

“Store” – setting up detailed grocery storefronts with Mark. Well, maybe not so much “with” him as “in charge of” him, using virtually all the toys but never getting around to actually playing.

“War” – positioning little green army men all over the playroom, then lobbing lego blocks at them. These little men and Lego blocks became a staple for my own children and Lego for my grandchildren – although the blocks have advanced somewhat from the reds and whites of my day!

Blobbing my thumb onto the wet oil paint of one of Dad’s paint-by-number scenes to see if it was, ahem, dry.

Shooting white beans with peashooters – glorified straws – then figuring out that if you stuck them in your nostril you could still shoot with considerable force… then coercing Mark into pushing one further up his nose so that he could shoot it even faster… then waiting at home while Dad took him to the Emergency Room to get it fished out….

Producing what I considered artistic treasures with coloured chalk on my big blackboard easel.

Ironing teatowels all by myself on the board set up in the dining room – and feeling so grown up.

Sneaking down the stairs early on Christmas morning when I heard Mom and Dad talking… only to be told that I’d just gone to bed 30 minutes before!!

Checking for milk delivery in the little pass-through beside the back door.

Finding (stealing??) a dollar from somewhere in the house and spending it happily at the store next door, only to have “Nanny Dunsmore”, the store owner, turn me in to Mom and Dad!!

Watching the Beatles play on the Ed Sullivan show – their first North American appearance. Their hair! Their style! … then seeing the TV blow up. Literally. A blackened smoking shell in the living room.

And finally – THE CHUTE!! The laundry chute to be exact.Those amazing bench or wall openings where we tossed dirty clothes so they’d end up in a pile in the basement wash area. When we left that house, I was always sad that I never found another that had one. Those calls from Mom to “throw it in the chute” stayed with me – I used the phrase for years to get my own family to drop their laundry into boring old baskets. Sigh.