A very small house that our family lived in till I was 8. (Mom, Dad and 5 boys.) The woman that lives there now is “probably” mentally ill. The front yard looks like it should be a tremendous garden in the summer, but frankly looks like weeds all year long. Looking in the windows it seems some rooms are filled with trash.
It’s funny how I judge every house I live in based on this house. I haven’t been inside for over 40 years. I’ve driven by at least 5 times a years. (Uh, not that stalkerish!)
Mom’s best friend lived across the street until she and her husband moved to a nice neighborhood just last year.
One thing I always look at is housing prices. Dad sold this house in 1962 for 13 thousand. A house like this would now go for 150 thousand.
“You will always remember the backyard of your childhood.”
My mother said this to me in one of her lucid moments the year before she died. It’s very true.
I find in my dreams, I dream about running around the sand box, the brick walkway between the houses, the pines tree (like the one on the left, there were 3 at one time) and the hill.
In a very Citizen Kane sort of moment, I wonder if on my deathbed years from now, I dream about sledding down this hill.