I LOVE THIS HOUSE!When you think of the word home you probably think of love, peace, a sense of familiarity. For me home represents warmth—a fuzzy slipper kind of warmth, a place like no other. A place where my family is—where I want to be…a place that comes first. Now there is home as in a “feeling” and there is home in the sense of four sides, doors and windows, a yard…you get the picture. What makes life special is when that feeling of home is synonymous with the four sides version. I’ve been lucky to have lived in 4 loving homes. There was the orange house on Beverly Road that I first remember. I wasn’t born there…but it was the first home I can truly visualize. Yes I did say it was orange…more like a golden amber…and yes it was the ‘60’s. Although I couldn’t say it was a popular color choice since it was the only orange house on our block or that I’d ever seen—I will say we definitely stood out. My memories of my orange house are all happy ones….waking up early…playing with my best friend Frank in the back yard, playing on the swings, eating popsicles in the yard and learning how to ride a bicycle for the first time in the driveway. There was the occasional crash in the garage (when I bragged to Frank I knew how to drive a car at the age of 4 and he took me up on it)…there was the time Frank and I ran away from home…although we didn’t get very far because we both were told we could never cross the street, and the police brought us home…but for the most part life on Beverly Road in that orange house was bliss. We moved to the house on Union Street when I was 6 years old. I was sorry to leave my friends but excited because the house was huge! We got lost in the basement if you can imagine. That’s where I lived the majority of my life—approximately 20 years. (no, not the basement...the house). The memories could fill a series of books. My parents always made home feel safe and special. That’s the way I have tried to make it for my girls in our home now. (My other home was the one I bought at the age of 28 years old—talk about a sense of pride and accomplishment…wow!)
So back to the brick house on Union Street—I loved it there. As I mentioned it was a huge house—one that accommodated my six siblings and I. We each got our own room. I had the pink room over looking the front yard…able to witness any unusual goings on (which never really happened except in my mind). And how cool is this….our street is where the 4th of July Parade started every year. So my brothers and sisters always felt like we were granted VIP access to the set-up and of course prime seating.
And as I grew older and eventually moved out of the house I truly enjoyed our family homecomings around the holidays. My parents turned the house into a winter wonderland around Christmas—welcoming Santa and every elf. At Easter time, they made the bunny extremely proud...and Thanksgiving was a cornucopia of blessings.
When my parents announced they were downsizing and moving…I felt really sad. It was like saying goodbye to an old friend that you wouldn’t see intimately again…sure you’d pass by…glance at one another…but never know one another’s secrets. When my parents began showing the house it felt like my former home was having an affair on me. Allowing other families to potentially enjoy her company. Ok, I’m a grown woman…I’m being silly. It’s just that I loved that house so very much. When my mom called to tell me the house has been sold to a nice family with 4 kids. I was actually happy. This is where it belongs-- with a nice family—with a lot of kids (3 plus kids actually). The house has not heard children’s voices running through it’s halls for so long. It hasn’t had any kids coloring on the walls or peeling its wallpaper to see what’s behind it. The house needs that. It hasn’t heard laughter, or crying, or fighting for so long. As much as I will miss that house I know we both have to move on…and my memories will always be with me. I love you Union Street house!
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