Your Happy Place

Today, while in choir, we did a brief meditation.

"Go to your happy place."

I immediately remembered rocking in a hammock.  The sun was coming through the trees above me, causing the hammock, the ground, my arms, and my book to be freckled with light and shadows.  The sun essentially created warmth, but a cool breeze would brush my hair across my jaw and make me a little chilly, too.

I'd often pull my thick comforter tighter, and adjust the items on my lap.  I'd secure the house phone that I had brought outside in case my best friend called, and I'd make sure that my sunflower seeds were tucked well enough so that they wouldn't spill.

What is it about that Fieldbrook house that gets me?

Drawn on Paint tonight without reference to any picture . Purely from Memory.

The smell of cherry blossoms in the spring?  Being able to make daisy chains for as long as I wanted?  Running up the stairs to the blue room on basically all-fours in order to be fast enough?  Riding bikes up and down the driveway?  Jumping on the trampoline?  Swinging on the swings in the sappy garage second floor? Sprinkler olympics?  Missionary Tag, Commando, Snake-in-the-Grass?  Being able to play the piano as hard as I needed or belt as loud as I wanted?  Smelling sawdust from when Dad worked in the garage? Dancing to Michael Jackson with everyone while Mom worked downstairs? The smell of the wood?  Laying in the sun-spots on the carpet?  Scrubbing milk spots off of the counters?  Laying outside in the thick grass reading a book?

Yeah, I miss it.
My childhood epitomized all Disney movies, story books, and cute happy bright songs.

But more importantly, I'm grateful for that childhood, and that Gingerbread House.
 I enjoy quiet moments of thought and relaxation.  I know that singing can always bring me joy, and that peace can be found in any moment.

I believe in happy endings.