Over the past few months, my focus has been diverted from our front yard project (and from adding more blog entries) to clearing out my parents’ home to put it up for sale. New paint, refinished hardwood floors, new carpeting, new appliances, and several other touches are being added to make the home look its best for perspective buyers.
This was my childhood home, infused with memories of both my growing up and memories of my parents in various stages throughout the years. Many of the house’s nicks, scratches, and scars that are now being painted over remind me of times way past (“that ding on the wall was where the bumper pool ball flew off the table during an especially rambunctious game with my brother”), and of times more recent (“the wall was gouged out over time from my mother’s wheel chair passing through the too-narrow doorway”).
We were a family of five. My two older brothers, my parents, and I somehow made do – fairly well I think – in a three bedroom, one bath house until I was about 12. When my parents added a family room and master bedroom on to the back of the house, we thought we were living in luxury. After that, I only had to share the teeny bathroom with my two brothers. The house, even with the added family room and master bedroom and bath (themselves not all that “master” by today’s standards), is smallish and lacks many things expected in homes now (“what, no built-in dishwasher??”). But, what it lacked in size and amenities, the house more than made up in love, warmth, and security – the things that are truly important to a child.
Yes, we did have a gas dryer, but I do remember
using this solar dryer quite a bit.
I grew up in what I thought at the time was a “typical” American family. We had everything we needed and most of what we wanted. My mother was a stay-at-home mom until all three of us were in school. Even then, she was always there to greet us by the time we came home from school. We took a summer vacation every year (usually tent camping at a National Park in California
We were boomer kids. There were lots of us in the neighborhood. My best friend lived just up the street; we walked to and from school together and played kick the can over and over again with the other kids in front of her house (the only flat street for several blocks). We continue to be good friends to this day and her folks still live in that house at the top of the hill.
When I go over to my parents’ house now, I can see that the neighborhood is starting to sprout kids again. That’s nice to see. I hear their laughter as they run around and play together. They are building memories just like we did, memories that I hope will infuse their homes with warmth and love and that will last a lifetime.
1 comment:
Reading about your childhood made me think of mine. It was a bit different than yours. We moved several times, I was an only child and we never took vacations.
One of our moves was to Tucson, AZ, where we lived in a tiny house on a ranch where chinchillas were raised. They were so sweet and soft and I loved them. Thankfully, I didn’t know they were killed to make coats.
Eventually my parents bought a house in a neighborhood. My school was within walking distance, my best friend lived just down the street and there were lots of other kids on the block. We’d be outside playing until dark most nights. We rode our bikes, jumped over bushes, played hide and seek. When we got thirsty and hungry we’d go home and have some Kool-Aid with tuna or peanut butter sandwiches.
Thank you for my walk down memory lane. Sylvosa Street was terrific!
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