By Doris Laughton Longstreet
Laying here, relaxed on my plush oaked wooden reclining lounge chair, with tassles linning its deep uppolstered lush cushions. Finally. A time for my self. The children are off to school-until they arrive back at a specified time. I look up and turn my head left to the treed linned and canopied red bricked road ruuning adjacent to two acre backyard of my 24 room old 19th Century Georgian Home. The year was 1948.
As I lay here , and sip my special minted ice tea, I close my eyes and remembered all the good times, hard times, and the war times ( World War II - you know ). But most of all I remembered the day I droped my very refine lady like handkerchief at the C.S.A. Catillion of 1934. I then open my eyes again, drosy a little, and then the memory fades.
Yet this day is when my husban, lover and bow was to comeback from his duties in Berlin. Waiting exactly here, as he most desired me to be. In the middle of the Garden surrounded Patio which ran just 20 feet from the fenced in Swimming pool, and furhter down, the tennis court-all shaded with aged old Maple, Oak and Pines..
In the spell of dreams and immagination, floating forms with hints of mist and mystery, I finally brought up from my deepest pysche, the fawned pine coloed Ballroom dance floor shinning in its beckoning glows to dance. Then my mind, and slumbered pieced together the scene as it was exactly was back in '34.
The off -white walls, high cielings and old wooden French high windows and frames lined with deep red-ashed curtains with silver ties hold the sumptious bellowed skirts they created.
Suddenly,mymind was at total rest, and my feminin form to be continued
