(This was when I was about 10 years old, I wrote this down on a piece of paper, and although I have shared this before I thought I would write this version down anyway).
I awaken and stretch, my rest has been comfortable. I had placed a pea under my mattress hoping to find that I would wake up and be a princess., but no matter I still felt royal. I had hung beautiful lacy table cloths from my canopy bed to make curtains. Gracefully I lift my legs over the edge of the bed and stretch. My aunt told me to be sure to stretch in the morning to help my limbs grow. Outside large lacy snow flakes are falling, I feel like a queen in her upper tower. Whose servants are showering white rose petals upon. Carefully I dress imagining that I have allowed the servants the day off to attend to their needs. I put my hair up in a high pony tail and make my way to the kitchen to eat some Frosted Flakes. My brother comes upstairs with dad's old ski's and quickly I run up to my room to put on my winter clothes. I pull on my mom's gloves and put on my puffy coat, then I head down stairs where I find a jungle. Dad's fishing gear, a pesticide sprayer, assorted tools and spare parts. Blankets, clothing, old coats, and Halloween costumes. Shelves up to the ceiling, holding pots and pans, vases and I know a secret about the box on the top. There is a wedding topper from my own parents cake and stuff from her wedding day. There is also a box which holds numerous old records, The Beatles, The Monkeys, Gordon Lightfoot. Plus an interesting Syrofoam container which holds various curiosities such as beads, fishing wire, animal hides, plenty of fodder for the imagination. This is the box not to touch upon pain of death. After climbing through the piles of stuff, I located my mothers old ski's and incumbered by the weight of the ski's I make my way back out of the basement and up the stairs. There my brother is waiting impatiently for me, so we open the back door and put on the large boots on the back step. We fasten the straps, ouch that buckle pinched, and click our boots into place. Shuffling along we head toward the hill in the place which we had dubbed the Snake Pit, out of our wild imaginations. At the hole in the wooden slatted fence we carefully climb, first one ski and then another. We are invincible, we can accomplish anything. Treking through the woods we are careful to avoid fallen logs, and a large pile of broken cement. Finally we have made it to the hill where we climb up like our dad showed us, by mounting the hill side ways. First my brother and then I swish down the hill, over and over. We feel the rush of crisp air on your faces, our noses turn red and the fresh crisp air fills our lungs. A steaming cup of hot cocoa starts to sound appealing or if it could be arrainged some hot wasil. Mother had made us some a few days ago when we had gone out caroling, and I could still remember the refreshing taste of the spiced citrus. After trecking up the hill became exhausting we slowly made our way back home where I put a pot on the stove to boil for our cocoa. Unfortunatnly my brother had ate all of the marshmallows out of the jar, so I glarred at him and looked in the cupboard for some mini marshmallows to replace them. This is a hit and miss operation. Sighing I spoon heaps of cocoa mix into my mug and then fill it with the steaming water. I stir it vigourously and some sloshes out over the top and onto the table. I hop up and grab some paper towels to clean up the mess, then upon sitting down I notcie my brothers own spilt cocoa and clean that up too. We talk animatedly about our adventure and how to improve in our skiing techinique.