My Days as a Swinger

   Is there anything as wonderful as the innocence of a child? Although I know that I needed to  improve and gain wisdom and have experiences, it was certainly wonderful to believe that the future was nothing but bright, that all would be well in the end, that Prince Charming would ride up and take me to a happy kingdom, (wait a minute- that one happened!). 
   I loved the carefree days of my youth. Besides all the time I spent playing at the elementary school, I had many hours of peace, solitude and a swinging good time right in my own back yard. If I close my eyes and step around the past 45 years, I can see our yard the way I thought it would always be. Behind the garage was a tall iron swing. The chains seemed to reach the bottom layer of the heavens. The east side of the garage was an untamed wilderness with an old clothesline, perfect for hanging and climbing, staking it's claim in the jungle of trumpet vine and grapes. We could peek through the wooded area to the neighbors yard and wonder why anyone would like living in a place that you couldn't play hard because you might disturb one of the mothers precious plants.
  If you put you hands on the old swing that sported a worn coat of green paint, you would have the textural experience of a thousand little nubbins tickling your hands as you leaned back and swung around the pole. You were usually rewarded with very orange hands from the rust that had taken up residence on that pole. Then you would grab the thick links of the chains and position your bottom to jump onto the swing seat, a thick worn board with splinters and cracks that always added the thrill of wondering if you would come away with a pinch or splinter that you would never be able to tell anyone about. Once properly positioned on the great slab of petrified tree, and with a tippy toe push off the ground, the fantastic journey began. Propelling the swing to the outer limits required the rhythmic swaying back and forth and a strong pull on the chain at the edge of the backward pulse. Legs straight with toes pointed towards the desired destination helped pump the swings to breath taking heights. Within minutes, I was soaring a top speed high above the roof of the garage. Then I would leave all the cares of the day and swing my heart to a happy place. I could solve my problems, plan my life and imagine all kinds of adventures. The amount of time I spent in that swing was equal to my emotional needs.
Oh where is that swing right now? What has replaced the active therapy that I loved in those days. I think it has something to do with chocolate.