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When I was Nine and Ten

So who was I at nine or ten? What was precious to me? What gave me fulfillment? What shaped my world?

At nine and ten, I was sometimes quiet, and some times quite noisy. I hated kickball, but loved to jump rope. I was afraid of whizzing balls going past my face during dodge ball games, but loved to play four square.

At nine and ten, I had a close circle of friends who played together every day at recess. I made up stories and we acted them out. We were a family with children and babies all around.  One girl was the grandma who loved to braid my hair while she sang the songs of her own grandma.

At nine and ten, I hid books between the pages of my school books and tried to read during math or science. I usually got caught. My favorite time of the week at home or at school was going to the library to pick out new books for the week.

At nine and ten, I was filled with the stories and the people I read about it books. I was Dolley Madison, Pocahontas, or Narcissa Whitman on a picnic table wagon train. I didn't just read books- I lived them.

At nine and ten, I  went on adventures, I explored, I discovered the secret places around our houses. I marched up and rang the doorbell of our Asian neighbors and asked her many questions about her life. She was gracious and invited me to tea, many times.

At nine or ten, I liked solitude. I lived with five brothers and sisters in a very small house. I often tried to find a way to be alone.

At nine and ten, I was a very happy child.

When I was eleven my world began to change, and so did I.

©annettealaine 2014

Recent Comments
Former Member
Very much enjoyed this retrospect. Eleven usually changes everything...
Saturday, 15 November 2014 19:50
Rosy Cole
This kind of dynamic compels good writing. When illusions fade, we devise a wider context in which good and bad co-exist.
Sunday, 16 November 2014 12:32
Ken Hartke
Nice remembrance from an early time...that is a magical age. And, yes, change comes pretty quick after that even if we try to hang... Read More
Saturday, 31 October 2015 05:42
1176 Hits


Tiny fragments of pain,

shards of random thoughts,

the sharp feelings

cut deep into my heart~

heart aches

©annettealaine 2014

1042 Hits


Shivering in the cold,

she refuses to yield,

to return to the scene of the crime~

sharp words left hanging in the air,

peace shattered

over a bowl of oatmeal

annettealaine 2014

1062 Hits

Objects May Appear

She sits on the side of the road~

arms wrapped around her knees,

head bent,

shoulders heaving.

The white Cadillac idles on a side street,

passenger door propped open~

the driver walks to the road,

steps gingerly towards her,

arms outstretched in supplication,

as they grow smaller

in my rearview mirror.

©annettealaine 2014

Recent comment in this post
Rosy Cole
Destinies bypassed. Multiple realities impinging on ours, reforming us. A chance glance will have its effect upon our future and m... Read More
Saturday, 27 September 2014 18:27
1030 Hits
1 Comment

Latest Comments

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Thanks, Di.
Diane Rampertshammer A rickety bridge
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Pure poetry - very evocative - you are a painter with words..Di
Ken Hartke Lamenting the Lost Art of Conversation
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Thanks for the comments. Rosy -- I look at this sort of social conversation as a healthful thing for...
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This is almost like a memory of birth, reviving those sensations, but translated in imagistic terms....
Rosy Cole Lamenting the Lost Art of Conversation
12 November 2017
Oh Ken, how rare that is! A gift. What a lovely sojourn in the byways and an unexpected exchange of ...

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