This morning Toots asked me if we could live in our house forever. Given that we rent the place, I knew the answer would be “no,” but I didn’t have the resolve to say it. As a kid who moved and moved and moved, I understood her question on a deep heart-level. Luckily, when I was 10, my family finally settled in a small suburb northwest of Chicago and I felt like I’d come home for good. We lived on our wonderful tree-lined street for eight years and I never ever, not ever wanted to leave.
Our neighbors still live on that street.
I can’t wait to do this PROMPT because I remember 270 Terrace Pl. and that mustard and royal blue-shuttered house to the tiniest detail and to describe it brings me back “home” if only for a minute or two.
Do you remember where you grew up? The town, the house, the apartment, the street, the lane, the city, the grassy field? Please describe it in every detail.
Post your submission in the comments OR post in your blog and leave a link to your blog in the comments.
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Oh yes. I lived in the same house from the time I was 1 until I was 17.
I will have to take this up later since I already wrote something today. But I promise I will come back to it.
I think I was four or so when my parents built their house, the one I was in until I moved out at 18. They still live there and I visit every Christmas. It’s a blonde brick home on 2 acres, with some lovely trees in the front & back yards (some planted way back when they sent trees home for arbor day). My dad built a big swing in the back yard, with two smaller swings for the kids. I love that house. I miss it. But more than missing it, I miss my family. Once to twice a year visits just aren’t enough.
Here ya go! http://bashaslife.blogspot.com/2010/04/where-i-grew-up.html Thanks for the prompt!
I was a frequent mover until I was 12–so they were all apartments in small complexes in Santa Monica-usually about 6 units. If we were upstairs we had a balcony, if we were downstairs it was a small deck. They were always two bedrooms and the bedrooms were usually pretty large. The matching pink gingham bedspreads never changed.
I remember all of it, both fondly and with sadness: The sounds of locusts in the big oak tree in our front yard every summer, how it smelled in the basement when I ventured down to do laundry, the sweltering heat of my converted attic bedroom after my sister was born, how it was next to impossible to open the hall closet after my mother had the new carpet installed, the way the screen door sounded when it slammed as my brother ran out to play, the splinter that I got from sliding on the hardwood floors that was so big I had to go to the hospital…I could go on, but I won’t. Thank you for this – it was lovely respite from work…xox
I remember the house I grew up in well. I wrote about some highlights.
i still dream about my childhood home on tower drive. in fact, every dream that takes place indoors takes place on tower drive. dreams which contain every detail from the newly-constructed shingle roof to my favorite old and stinky doberman, “Heckle”.
i suppose that’s what happens when you have your childhood home ripped from you along with all of its insides.
the most lasting mental picture i have of tower drive is of the shelves my dad built me when i was a tween. shattered and mangled sitting in the breezeway…