Please publish and pot mylatest written story. ----- Original Message ----- From: joseph mazzella To: cynthia groopman Sent: Sunday, April 25, 2010 6:41 PM Subject: FW: reformatted story: Getting Sand for the Sandbox
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: [email protected] To: [email protected] CC: [email protected] Subject: reformatted story: Getting Sand for the Sandbox Date: Sun, 25 Apr 2010 18:31:34 -0400 Getting Sand for the Sandbox By: Cynthia Groopman When my brother Jay and I were little children about 6 years old, we used to look forward to a special day in the summer. We spent our first seven years of our life during the summer at Highview New York, in a bungalow colony. Our dad built the bungalow for his mother and father back in the early 1940's when there was no air conditioning in NYC. Highview was located in Sullivan County in Bloomingburg NY. Our great Uncle Harry who owned a hardware store in parksville NY bought for us, to entertain us, a swing and a sandbox. We would spend the blissful wonderful summers of youth playing in the sand building castles and also swinging as high as the sky. Our other great Uncle Philip nicknamed Pinnie, our grandma Rebecca's brother, would spend several weeks as our guest in the bungalow. He would accompany dad and my brother and me in the Nash car to a place where we bought a large bag of sand. That was a day that we looked forwad to and that mean that our sandbox would be filled up with God's precious gift of sand. I enjoyed riding in the car, chatting with Uncle Pinne and having him and my dad get the big bag of sand. I was amazed how my dad was able to lift such a heavy bag. My dad and Uncle Pinnie were my heroes. The amazing time arrived when my dad would open the sandbag and pour the sand into the sandbox. I would jump up and down gleefully as this task was done. It reminded me of raining but instead of water it was sand. Jay and I would play in the sandbox and build lots of things, and I would pretend that I was cooking, making a pie etc. Friends our own age would come and we would enjoy a sandbox visit. We learned to share, to build, to play, to enjoy each other and to have good clean fun in the sandbox. Whenever it rained Mom would say to Dad to go outside and cover the sandbox with a canvas so it would not get wet. For 5 summers the sandbox was our fun area. In 1955, the sandbox, the swing and all that belonged to the bungalow were gone. NY State was beginning to plan to build the Quick way that would mean that our bungalow was to be thrown down and a new super way would be errected. Grandmotehr Becky was sad and cried and gone were the lillacs of summer, the sandbox, the swing, and the summer refuge from the city heat. All of these fun times are in my memory bank and I just make withdrawals and out they come and I revisit my blissful youth. Memories are like the sand in the sand box, numerous and also beautiful and treasured as well. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The New Busy is not the old busy. Search, chat and e-mail from your inbox. Get started. -- You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "Deaf-Blind Inspirational Life Group" group. To post to this group, send email to [email protected]. To unsubscribe from this group, send email to [email protected]. For more options, visit this group at http://groups.google.com/group/dbilg?hl=en.
