486 12th street

There's so many things about being at my parents house that instantly takes me back to my childhood. Like the smell of their basement... my Mom thinks it just smells like the fireplace but it's more than that to me...it smells like summer. Like being outside in the afternoon heat and going downstairs to cool off in the basement. We never had air conditioning but the basement was the next best thing. Someday we're going to have a basement for our kids.

I love the sound of the kitchen chairs sliding on the tile floor. Weird, I know. But I remember being a camp counselor in Pennsylvania and I could hear that sound when I talked to my parents on the phone and I longed to be home. I wanted nothing more than to be in my parents kitchen pulling the chairs out to have dinner or play games with everyone around the table.

Since I've been here I've been able to sit on our couch in the front room and look out the front and side windows. Those views will forever be blazed in my mind. I use to stare out the windows just looking and day dreaming. I noticed that the 2 little trees that our neighbor planted back when I was in grade school are now fat and HUGE. Has it really been that long? I also noticed out the side window that the line of pine trees that towered above our neighborhood were gone. How could somebody chop down my memories?

My parents house was built in the 1920's so it has lots of charm and charisma. When I was growing up ,our neighborhood was just known as "the numbered streets" or the "old part of town". I have to admit I often felt intimidated by my peers that lived in the nice new houses. But as I look back I wouldn't change a thing. Because we lived in the "old part of town" we lived next door to the "older folks in town" as well. The majority of our neighbors were grandma's and grandpa's. How fun for us to have 4 or 5 grandparents who lived next door. (who frequently passed out candy to us sugar loving kids.) I grew up with a love a respect for the elderly. I still have a special spot in my heart for people over the age of 60. (Incidentally, my Dad is fast approaching that special spot. :) ) Our dear friend, Emily Davis, lived across the street from us. She recently passed away in 2005 at the age of 105! She was born in the year 1900. I was privileged to hear all her stories. She lived on the corner of 12th street and Holmes ave. Holmes has become a rather busy street. But when Emily moved into their home Holmes was just a cattle road! It's amazing to me of the growth and development that she witnessed! She never understood the concept of the answering machine. When she would call us and the answering machine would pick up she thought she was really talking to someone and was confused why we wouldn't answer her. One of us would always run right over to her house and see what she needed. She also never said "good-bye" when getting off the phone, she just hung up. I miss her.

Incidentally, the "numbered streets" are now known as "the historic district". But it's still just the "numbered streets" to me.

Well, I can smell my Mom's bread and cinnamon rolls coming out of the oven...gotta go be a kid again...