“Home is where one starts from.”
Winter has reared its ugly head. It is cold and rainy and only 37°. The constant wind makes it feel even colder. Nothing about the day is inviting. I’d love to stay home, but I have PT so I have no choice but to brave the elements.
Yesterday I did laundry, two loads of laundry. I felt accomplished. To add to that sense of accomplishment, I even brought up a few Christmas decorations. Today I’ll add more Christmas. It is time.
The house where I lived the longest was small. Upstairs were three bedrooms, the linen closet and a bathroom. I shared my bedroom with my sister. The radiator was on the wall at the foot of my bed. I loved to listen to it gurgle and steam. I used to sit beside it to get warm in the small space between the radiator and the bed. The bathroom had a tub but no shower. The living room downstairs was the biggest room. It was the room where we spent most of our time. The TV was there near the side wall. A desk was on the wall near the front door. I remember when we had our pictures taken we sat on that desk. I am wearing a skirt and blouse. The blouse had a bow. My brother wore a jacket, and my sisters wore dresses. If I close my eyes, I can see the kitchen. It was small. Only four chairs fit at the table in the corner. The stove too was small. The sink was across from the door. The fridge was on the same wall. My father used to go crazy if we left a glass by the sink without washing it out or opened the fridge just to hunt. Our Woolworth’s turtle’s bowl was on the counter.
That house was one side of a duplex in a project of duplexes. It was the first house you saw when you drove up the hill. It was on the corner and looked tall. The front lawn was a grassy hill. At the bottom of the hill was a streetlight and a mailbox. I used to watch out the picture window when we had snow. Every flake glistened under under the streetlight. It was almost magical.
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