The summer of 1957 I was almost six years old…I was a Fall baby…September… one of those Virgos that likes everything in place and everything in it’s place…a perfectionist.
Just so you know most of the perfectionist part is slightly worn out. I no longer scrub the kitchen floor everyday…or double check that all the hangers are facing the right direction along with the clothing hanging facing right. Mostly my money is helter skelter in my billfold…it doesn’t all face the correct way. I still have a need to clean the kitchen after a meal…some people can stack dishes for the next day…not me. I also have a sick compulsion to face all my can goods exactly so in the pantry.
It is hard to be perfect. I no longer strive for perfection. Perfection is exhausting.
Most days I like dogs better than people, I think that was probably true for most of my life.
Here I am in North Dakota in the summer of 1957. Hair all done up in pin curls and straight as a stick bangs cut kinda short. I am wearing shorts and a blouse that my Mother probably sewed for me. The puppy was all wrapped up in some kind of rag/blanket that had seen better days. It was not a puppy that belonged to me or my family. Every summer when we went with my Dad where he was working our dog/dogs had to be given away or “dealt with.” That was very hard for me.
Those years 1955-1958 in Minnesota were horrible farming years, Army Worms and drought took their toll. We were lucky my Dad had a job, but it was still difficult for me to leave home and the farm for the whole summer.