Yesterday John prepared our early supper meal and I took some of the food to my elderly parents. As I drove home, I passed the house we lived in when I was age four. We lived there until I was maybe age eight. The house is tiny, in a state of needing attention, but still standing and still inhabited. There are overgrown bushes and weeds and yet it looks very much like it did in so many ways. My parents didn't own it but moved there because it was the only available rental they could find at the time. It didn't have a water heater so my mom would heat water on the stove and my sister and I bathed in a galvanized tub in the kitchen. We shared a small bedroom with our baby sister. Our room had bold floral wallpaper and linoleum floors. There was still a city bus at that time and my older sister rode it to school when she started first grade. I learned how to ride a bicycle while living there, started school there, and welcomed another sister into our family there.
Me on the left, my sister on the right
If I could, I would travel back through time to once again hear the sounds, see the sights, and capture the feelings of my young self. I remember sleeping with the windows open (who had air conditioning?) and loving hearing the night creatures. I remember playing in the yard, climbing the small apple tree, picking ripe tomatoes from my dad's small garden and eating them right there, the juices dripping on my dress. I remember playing in the snow and watching my mom and dad throw snowballs. I remember riding bikes along with the neighbor boy who lived behind us. I remember relatives coming to visit and we would sit on the front porch in the swing. I remember my dad coming home from work one day and bringing our first (used, of course) television. My sister and I loved watching the popular kid shows. We watched I Love Lucy faithfully and laughed and laughed. Life for us was so simple then with not many distractions that children have today but we had a very happy childhood.
My memories fill me with joy!