Last night, Karen, my niece, called to ask me exactly where the house was on Scott street where Bud, my brother (her dad) and I used to live. She shared with me some memories she had of the exterior and interior and some things that happened there. It got me to thinking about the years we spent there. Dad bought the house when I was nine (the first house my parents owned); and except for a brief year at the edge of town where my father could have a larger garden, I lived there until I was eighteen when Dad, who was a contractor, built Mother’s dream house.
Before I turned nine, we moved five times before Dad bought the house and three years after we left, until I married Forrest. So Scott street is the home that is a part of me and I remember the most with nostalgia. I even remember the number. 609 West Scott.
After Karen hung up, I opened my laptop and googled the place. I was delighted to find pictures! Not only of the outside but of the inside! Pictures of every room, the yard, the neighborhood. The house was for sale and the realtor had posted them. Everything looks so much smaller now than it did when I was young . I stayed and visited and remembered for hours! So many many memories.
Before I dimmed the light for nighttime sleep, it occurred to me, I am the oldest living member of my family. There are so many things I could share with them that they might like to know. I have always regretted not knowing more about my parent’s and other relatives in the past. Then and there I decided that I’ll collect some writings I’ve done over the years about those times and write more if I have time and put a book together for the family. I’ve been working on two other volumes, but this feels urgent to me. I want to finish all three, but I do so want these family stories to live on.