After all the work, and with only a few items left inside, I was left at the house by myself to really think about the years I spent in that home. It wasn't always perfect, but for the most part it was a wonderful experience. All the memories that popped in my head were ones of joy. And they were all triggered by the details of the house. The little things that through years of wear and tear were never replaced. So I pulled out my camera and took several pictures of these little details. I don't want to forget them. I don't want to forget where I came from. Not all the item are attached to the house, but they have always been a part of it, so it feels like they are inseparable. I'm sure the only ones who will truly appreciate this are my sisters. They are the only ones to share in my experience.
As I cleaned the house I kept a log of some of the memories that popped into my head.
* Listening through the heating vent to Chandra's phone conversations with her friends.
* The front door being painted black and white, and looked like a sideways bow tie. Whose idea was that anyway?
* Making a clubhouse under the stairs.
* The basement haunted house and George wearing Mom's old wig.
* Throwing the tennis ball over the house to each other (and trying to catch it).
* The laser pointer incident (I won't go into further details)
* Dressing up Mischief the cat in baby clothes, and putting the poor thing in the shower.
* Eating scrambled eggs and ketchup before going to afternoon Kindergarten with George.
* We knew each house on the street by the last name of the family that lived there. Except for the "Hippie House", which will always be called the Hippie House.
* Laying in the hallway under the swamp cooler with Jill, completely covered with blankets, except our faces of course.
* Playing night games with all the kids in the neighborhood. The light post was always where we met.
* Playing outside all day, until Mom would yell out the window that dinner was ready.
* Eating fried chicken every Sunday.
* Seating assignments at the dinner table. I was always at the foot of the table.
* Aunt Connie and Mom making Christmas candy (well, Mom making it, and Aunt Connie eating it).
* Jumping from the top of the stairs to my Daddy waiting at the bottom.
* Playing "Fire Drill" with Jill. I would lower her out the second story window, then jump down to the grass below. We practiced it several times a day.
* Laying on the floor with a blanket and my feet on the heating vent while I watched TV.
* Hitting tennis balls against the side of the house.
* Always afraid of the black widows underneath the front porch.
* Taping Christmas cards to the coat closet door.
* The creaking sound the stairs make as you walk down them.
* The way all the windows in the house would fog up on Thanksgiving, from all the yummy cooking.
Change is good, or so they say. We shall see.
