Apr. 18, 2007 - 20:16 MDT

OFF 'IS BEAN

Mucking about in memories is a dangerous thing it would seem. Especially this time of year. As has been said in literature, "In the spring a young man's thoughts lightly turn to love."

And what about these old men ? Our memories encompass a lifetime of loving, of one kind or another.

Tonight I'm remembering a time of my life when I was in elementary school, a magic time of life for me.

RINGS AND SWINGS AND PLAYGROUND THINGS

And a schoolyard of gravelly grit, which at this time of year would get densely populated certain times of day. Before school, recesses, lunches, after school for a time along about Lilac Time when we all occupied a spot on the playground.

The rings, oh the rings, much like a center pole clothes line they were. A stout pipe thing topped with a circle of steel, hung with chains from which hung rings, just made to be grasped with grip of steel long enough to make the transition to the next ring.

My first trip around the rings was when I was so young that I had to make a mighty leap to grasp that first one. It took me some time before I could travel the entire circle of them, but I celebrated that day it happened, no big brags or words, just inner joy.

Then there was the long row of swings, hung by light chain, flat wooden seats, travel into the blue empyrean for this shaver. Always trying to go a little higher than ever before, envying the bigger kids who always topped us littles, yet the thrill was always there.

At the end of the row of swings was a high bar and a low bar, on which occasionally I would see one of the bigger kids doing something on, chinning themselves mostly.

In those years at that level our gymnasium was a lady who would get each class out to play soccer or dodge ball for a certain specified time. For the life of me I can't remember her name, but she was a firm patient lady. Our "gym periods" went on year around unless the weather was just too bad. We'd be supervised while bundling up and then sent out to our fate worse than death. Wasn't all that bad really, but - - heck - - we exercised our right to resent "organized anything."

When we weren't being 'led' by the gym lady, durning recesses, lunches and before school teachers would be out on the playground monitoring things, breaking up scuffles and quelling the everlasting pulling of girls hair and other teasings.

But beginning with Lilac Time our playground would be crowded to the hilt. There was a place for girls to play jacks and a place to draw hopscotch -- a cement slab of the right size. Off to one side was a dirt place where boys dug little pockets for their marble games with room to draw a big circle for a "keepers" marble game. (Keepers was bootleg, teachers not to know) Seems we would spin our tops out by the front steps, where the wide spot was just before going up.

Looking back it seems that we all enjoyed ourselves at the tops of our collective voices, wonder how many of our teachers lost some of their hearing over playground duty ?

That is the time of year I remember best, everything coming in to leaf, trees blooming, weather warming.

Oh, yes the schoolyard was there during the cold wet parts of the year, and under duress we would occasionally be put out there. I remember kids playing fox and geese in the snow, and the stretch of sidewalk where we made our "slide," it was out of the way of grownups. I took my turn carrying a Coke bottle of water to slick 'er down a bit. Wore out my bit of shoe leather, having a run and wheeeee sliding as far as the slick spot went. Took practice on my part, but by the second winter I was there, I could do it.

I remember when the teachers were out in the school yard, we formed lines for the rings and swings, took our turns and went to the back of the line hoping for another turn before having to go into the schoolhouse.

After school most kids took off for home, and if I was lucky bullys would have vacated the scene too and I could circle the rings as long as I could hang on, swing on the swings until I couldn't hang on to the chains, and sometimes when I felt daring I'd see how high I could swing and jump. Another bit was the hope that maybe someday by a feat of superhuman strength I could get enough speed on the downhill arc that I would spin around the top, I didn't know anything about physics then, but my imagination told me that if I tried hard enough it was possible. The farthest I ever got was when the chains would give a jerk just before the backswing, then I knew that someday it would happen for me.

Saturdays, Sundays and holidays the playgrounds at school would be empty and perhaps some of us pals would go play there. Summertimes the big playground at City Park attracted many of us, it was beside the zoo (which really wasn't all that much yet), the aviary and drinking fountains and restrooms. Oh, yes the handicraft people there in the summer provided much activity for our active minds and hands. Being a bit tired we could wander over to where the monkeys were and watch them laughing at us.

So. come spring I either hie myself off to Hurricane Mesa of my imagination or return back in time to my schoolyard playground. Either way, folks look at me in the midst of my didos and say, "He's OFF 'IS BEAN." . . . . . . . . . . . .

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