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Memories of my overactive imagination

We're rebuilding the fence à la maison, so now part of the fence is gray, and a small part is brown. I went to look at the small part of the brown fence today. It was in the small patch of woods that we have at the back of house. I walked through the patch of woods. "Wow, it's a nice day," I thought. "A bit hot, but nice."

I made my way past the trees and the branches that had been cut down in search of fence. All the fence looked familiar so far. Then I saw the fence that I was looking for. It was at the very corner of the wood, the part where, if we had a next-door neighbour in the other direction, we would have one. It was a nice fence, too. Dad and Mark had ripped down the old fence and put up the new fence a bit at a time (they aren't putting up the entire fence at once because just about the house is fenced on three sides--come to think of it, I wonder what they're going to do with the gate). Then I saw a patch of leaves that didn't match the surrounding area. "Wonder what that's there for?" I asked.

Then I remembered. Chelsea was there.

For those who don't know, I've had a dog for almost my entire life. At the end of my first Nanowrimo in 2002, she was put to sleep. I haven't had another pet since.

I continued walking into the backyard. I saw where we intended to bury Chelsea but didn't because Dad hit the water pipe. (It was a great mess, too.) I saw a tree stump that has been there longer than I can remember, along with a stick that I stuck there years ago just to see if a tree would grow out of it. (I think that idea came from seedlings in gardening. Clearly trees don't work the same way.) Chelsea's old blue doghouse had somehow migrated from the backyard to the other side of the house, the side that has in recent times been reserved for storage.

There was a sled somewhere back there, I remembered. Jeffrey, Danielle, Ethan (Danielle and Ethan were former neighbours), and I used to sled down the hill at Grandmother's on the rare occasions that it snowed. I think I called it the Mountain of Doom or some other ominous name. Of course, I was the one coming up with these creative games. "You're the one with the creativity," I was told on more than one occasion I was the one who started the game of orphans, which was a lot of fun, especially in the days before the ditch at Grandmother's was filled. (For some reason I never say "Grandmother's and Granddaddy's" even though it was true at the time.)

I was also the one who started the alligator pit game, which I recalled as I left the backyard and entered the driveway again. There's a patch of large rocks next to my driveway, and when we were younger, I had the idea to step from one side to the other--without falling off the rocks. Now this is easy (assuming my lack of balance doesn't kick in), but when we were little, it was exciting, especially when I added in the alligator pits. Since then we've moved the islands--er, rocks--around a bit for Mum's attempt at an herb garden. (She tried once. Then one day she told Jeffrey to spray some weed-killer around. He sprayed it on her garden.)

I don't have much else to say, so have a meme.

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