Cat Poop and Beetle Races

When we were children, my sisters and I had wonderfully weird imaginations.  Growing up on the farm, with only the two channels on “farm TV” and the closest neighborhood children being miles away, we had to use our imagination almost every minute of every day.

We used to do strange things with bugs. Our old farmhouse harboured little black beetle bugs that would once in a while crawl out of the tub drain.  If we found three, my sisters and would line them up with a pencil and then race them across the kitchen floor.  When we’d tire of this, we’d go to the yard, dig a hole, and try to fill it up with ladybugs.  And we’d find A LOT, but not enough to fill the hole to its brim because we’d become frustrated with the scuttley things attempting to make a break for it and crawl out.

Don’t get me started on how many caterpillars wound up in a mason jar with holes punched in the lid.

The sisters and I would find hours of amusement with the cat.  When there wasn’t a litter of kittens to play with, we’d pretend the cat was our baby and try pushing it around in the doll carriage…. or in the Barbie Beach Mobile. On a grosser note we’d always run to the cat to watch it poop.  Sad but true.  We found the appearance of cat poop fascinating and would even mark the spot with a stick after the cat had covered up her business so that we could look at it later.  At times we were odd children.

And then there were the theatre performances. When we did have company, we’d create and perform skits. We’d think of a storyline (usually modeled after some fairy tale, but with a twist at the end to “make it our own) and then practice and practice and practice until it was time to perform.  We’d then assemble the parents and dazzle them with our Oscar worthy portrayals of Heidi, or Snow White or Rumpelstiltskin.  And the adults, bless their hearts, would laugh at the proper moments and clap politely at the final curtain.

Hmmm, I don’t remember any requests for encore performances.

I also fondly remember the hours of enjoyment we’d have with the “chopped finger in the box” illusion as well as the “rattlesnake eggs in the envelope” trick.

The wonderful thing about this play, all these years ago, is that it didn’t cost a dime.  I don’t remember a single day of boredom until I reached adolescence.  Not with mud bombs and toilet paper dresses

ironing leaves between sheets of wax paper

or making daisy chains.

Gathering slough water for “scientific observation”

and building tree forts.

How did YOUR imagination manifest itself when you were a kid?  I bet it didn’t include electricity or battery power.

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