Some People Never Grow Up

My friend and I stood before the beautiful circa 1820 Georgian stone house. Immense in stature, grand and gracious in beauty and design, it stood as a testament to an era gone by.

Our mouths were gaping, I am sure. We were oohing and ahhing and carrying on like school girls who just had seen their current rock star idol.

"Look at the solid paneled shutters still on the windows!" she exclaimed. We circled the house, reaching the far side yard.

"Look at those water pitchers up there!" I pointed to the second floor window. "This place is full of stuff," I added, as we climbed around the property, peeking into windows. (Don't worry, no one lives there. It's a vacant house in spite of all the antiques almost bulging out of the doors.)

At last we found ourselves before the grand entrance once again. As we stood there our imaginations took us back into the past. How can you help but wonder at the history of such a place. Who walked through these doors? What conversations were shared on this side porch? Were these rooms full of children's laughter and games? If so, what games? What children?

We stepped back and I gushed, "Oh, I wish I could put on a full gown and..."

"And what? Go back there?" She laughed. "You are a dreamer, Darlene."

Well, I've got news -- she's no different!

A couple of grown-up girls went out to play yesterday. And in many ways, it was still a make-believe world for a minute or two!