When Jim and I were kids, we had our own little Depression-style playhouse – no windows, no doors, no running water and no heat. But it was very special as not many families in those days had playhouses – they were lucky to have a house at all. Ours wasn’t very big, but it was good for us. We spent many happy hours there. Actually, I can’t remember much about it except for the fact we were continually complaining to our parents that we needed indoor plumbing and television. My dad would counter with the fact that we were lucky to have plumbing in the real house and he had no idea what television was! I find that hard to believe – probably just another excuse parents use when they don’t want to do something for you.

As we grew older, Jim started bringing dates home to the playhouse and I would be refused entry. That really pissed me off, and I’d try to look in the windows which by that time were covered with black plastic. What kind of games were they playing in there anyway? And why couldn’t I see? I’d complain to my folks who would tell me to shut up and quit whining . . . and then they’d tell me to go read a book. I had no homework, so why would I read anything? It made me wonder – did my parents enjoy reading and did other people spend time reading? Should I give it a try?

Jim finally went to college and I had the playhouse to myself for a few years until I was off to college. I guess I enjoyed myself in it although nothing stands out. I looked forward to college where I knew there was plumbing and television. When I came home to visit, I could bring a boyfriend to play with me in the playhouse, but we never lasted too long as there was still no plumbing and no television. And no one can go too long without those two crucial ingredients that make up our culture.