Art was such a good friend. We laughed harder than we could believe, and of course did exactly what his mother said not to do. One example of the don't do(s) was to goof around in the unfinished section of their Cape Cod attic. 

 

One drizzly day we made a parachute with a large handkerchief and threw it out of the window in the unfinished section of the attic. After we wore out the fun of this simple activity, I decided (while Art chased the parachute after I threw it), to hang out the window from the windowsill, to make Art think I had slipped out, and couldn't get back inside. When he chased the parachute and turned to see me hanging from the window, he laughed heartilly at my plight, picked up a tennis ball, and threw it at me. After the laugh, I tried to get back in the window, but couldn't lift my foot high enough. When Art realized I was in a desperate situation, he began screaming for his mother who was inside. Art ran to the locked front door and pounded on it, while Mrs. Schmalz ran upstairs looking for us. At first she couldn't find us because all that was visible were my white knuckles and fingers grasping the windowsill. Finally, she found me and grabbed on to an arm. Just then Art came back and casually said to his mother, "Oh there you are." Mrs. Schmalz told Art in to uncertain terms to get a ladder. I barely made it down in one piece, and was promptly sent home, only to find that Mrs. Schmalz had called my mother. It was NOT a "wait till your father gets home" situation!

 

I don't know how Art and I made through high school!

Don