My Little World

I remember the days of being at home with my mother.
Life was simple.
I would play with the dog for hours.
In the fall, pick peaches that grew to the size of softballs.
Fuzz so thick it would itch the face when rubbed against the cheek.
The juice poured from them like a river of sweet ecstasy.
To this day, I have never had a better one.
I remember planting flowers with my mom in the spring.
And how I’d run outside every day to check on their progress and watch them grow.
My mom would call me in for lunch.
It usually consisted of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and a cup of Lipton tea.
Yes, I drank tea at four years old.
My favorite show was Dick Van Dyke.
I would watch it and take a nap.
The elderly neighbor lady was in love with me.
One day she asked if I wanted to come live with her.
I said, “Only if my mother could come.”
She laughed a big hearty laugh and said,
“We don’t want your mother living with us.”
This was all I knew.
I had no concept of anything outside my little world,
and I needed nothing else.