The memories of growing up on Gettysburg Drive are pretty vivid. It was wonderful to live so close to the school, the church, Grandma's house, and most of my aunts and uncles as a kid. We had friends in the neighborhood and so much family around. Haley and I would ride our bikes to my grandma's in the summer and swim all day long. My fear of grasshoppers comes from a childhood bike ride where one flew up into my face and I crashed.
I remember going on walks with my mom as it got dark on summer evenings and her telling me wonderful stories about Napoleon and Josephine (Mom, do you remember this?) and another time walking past crazy Bob "doctor dirt"'s house and smelling a funny smell from some kids outside smoking and my mom telling us it was "mary-juana".
I remember countless hours dancing around the house and the kitchen, playing in the sandbox (but raking it out first), building sandcastles and shooting countless free throws on the basketball hoop.
I remember camp outs in the backyard and private tanning sessions where no one could see me.
I remember how excited I was when the room in the basement was finished for me after Willie was born and I got to have my own bathroom and paint my walls a pretty green.
I remember that lovely, ugly, wonderful brown velvety couch that was the best sleeping couch in the whole world.
I remember playing games on the front lawn, washing the car in the driveway, and watching the yucky stupid neighbors across the street do yucky stupid things (answer the door "naked", run over their little sister with the mini van, etc.)
I remember our goldfish dying on the black rock slab fire place and creepy "sweat band man" doing the electrical in the basement.
The memories go on forever and they are good.
When we moved away from our house, about 9 years ago I was so sad. I cried when my mom and dad told us we were moving. Yes, I knew the neighborhood was yucky and that the girls who lived next door had too many gentleman callers, but I loved my house. Because of our affection, we named her Mildred.
I drove past Mildred today coming home from helping to set up Thanksgiving tables at my Grandma's house. Mildred just doesn't look the same and it makes me sad.
I remember going on walks with my mom as it got dark on summer evenings and her telling me wonderful stories about Napoleon and Josephine (Mom, do you remember this?) and another time walking past crazy Bob "doctor dirt"'s house and smelling a funny smell from some kids outside smoking and my mom telling us it was "mary-juana".
I remember countless hours dancing around the house and the kitchen, playing in the sandbox (but raking it out first), building sandcastles and shooting countless free throws on the basketball hoop.
I remember camp outs in the backyard and private tanning sessions where no one could see me.
I remember how excited I was when the room in the basement was finished for me after Willie was born and I got to have my own bathroom and paint my walls a pretty green.
I remember that lovely, ugly, wonderful brown velvety couch that was the best sleeping couch in the whole world.
I remember playing games on the front lawn, washing the car in the driveway, and watching the yucky stupid neighbors across the street do yucky stupid things (answer the door "naked", run over their little sister with the mini van, etc.)
I remember our goldfish dying on the black rock slab fire place and creepy "sweat band man" doing the electrical in the basement.
The memories go on forever and they are good.
When we moved away from our house, about 9 years ago I was so sad. I cried when my mom and dad told us we were moving. Yes, I knew the neighborhood was yucky and that the girls who lived next door had too many gentleman callers, but I loved my house. Because of our affection, we named her Mildred.
I drove past Mildred today coming home from helping to set up Thanksgiving tables at my Grandma's house. Mildred just doesn't look the same and it makes me sad.
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