Our House Is A Very, Very, Very Fine House

I always believed the house I grew up in was a big house. It seemed big to me at the time. In fact, it was quite tiny. Two bedrooms and one bathroom with a living room, dining room, kitchen and den. Oh, and a hallway with a little alcove where Jesus lived. There was a big picture of Him in the alcove along with sacred candles and holy water. I was always glad our bedroom had a second door. When I did something I knew I shouldn't have, I would avoid that hallway like the sinner I knew I was. I'd slink through the kitchen into the den which had a door into our bedroom. I was always grateful for that  backway in. But every once in awhile, usually after confession or some good deed I had done, I would kneel on the little seat in front of Jesus and light the candles. I felt very close to Him during those times. I'm grateful He didn't hold me to the nun promise. Like that would have ever worked out. I mean, come on.

Virginia Ave

 

I loved our house. Maybe it felt so big to me because so much life happened there. This tiny little house was always full of people and parties and noise. It was a wonderful place to grow up in so many ways. I especially loved the bedroom I shared with my sister, Kelly. Our bedroom was very tiny but I thought it was beautiful. There were two big windows, side by side, that looked out to the side of the house next door. You could look straight into our neighbor, Grandma Rose's kitchen. I remember always having trouble falling asleep at night. If I saw Grandma Rose's kitchen light come on, I would raise one window shade so I could wave to her. She always waved back then would motion for me to lay down and go to sleep. I loved that she did that. It was like being put to bed by your grandma. The pale yellow walls of our bedroom were painted by our mother and the beautiful climbing yellow roses on the wallpaper on one wall was also hung by her. Everything she did in our home was perfection to us.

This is two year old me on our front lawn. Grandma Rose's house is next door. 

This is three year old me ready for my birthday party. My mother made every birthday an event. She did the same with every holiday. Truthfully, she made regular days an event. She really was the heart and soul of our home and our entire family. One of my favorite things in this picture is the dining room set. Our house was built in 1920 and first purchased by a middle aged couple. They lived there for thirty years until the wife passed away and the husband couldn't stay alone any longer. This was my parents first home they owned and they would also live there for thirty years. When they purchased the home, the first owner gifted the dining room set to my parents. My mother always took care of the table and chairs, hutch and buffet as if they were worth a million dollars. That didn't mean we didn't use it though. Every birthday, holiday, guest or other important meal was at that table. Now the entire set lives in our dining room. I'm so grateful it ended up with me.

This is two year old me in our kitchen. The flooring was rolled linoleum. It was yellow with multi colored spots and dots. The thing I remember more than anything about that floor was the hundreds of times I saw my mother on her hands and knees scrubbing it. She didn't believe in mops. She believed in elbows and knees. She would literally scrub the floor from end to end every week. Usually, we'd walk in the door from school to find her finishing up. Then, because the floor wasn't completely dry, we'd run the Casa de Casas maze from the living room to the dining room into our parents bedroom, out the hallway past the bathroom and into our bedroom. This is where we had to take off our Catholic School uniforms and put on play clothes. Then, we'd run out of our bedroom into the den and out the back door. Once free outside, we'd usually head to Patty's house to play. Funny how a photograph of rolled linoleum can carry so many good memories. Try it. Find an old photo of something crazy like flooring and see what you start to remember. Trust me, it's sort of fun and cathartic during these trying times we're living in. 

This is eleven year old me and eight year old Kelly with our pumpkins. These weren't just any old pumpkins either. These were our special creations for the school carved pumpkin contest. I can guarantee I was the only kid to show up at St. Helen's with a cigar smoking pumpkin. It's how I rolled. This was our kitchen. It was on the opposite side of the house from our bedroom. I could look out the kitchen window and see our driveway. I could also look right into Big Grandma's bedroom. That's right. Our neighbors were Grandma Rose on one side and Big Grandma on the other side. It gets better. Big Grandma had a little bungalow in her backyard like we did and that's where Big Grandma's mother-in-law lived. We called Big Grandma's mother-in-law, Little Grandma. Who knows how we came up with these names but that's who they always were to us. 

I believe this is the 1960's, with my mother on the left, Big Grandma in the middle and her daughter, Phyllis, on the right. They're standing on our front lawn with Big Grandma's house in the background.

This is Phyllis, Big Grandma and a neighbor boy taking me for a swim in our pool. I was two and I still vividly remember swimming with them. I loved when they would come swim. My mother would make lunch and serve it out by the pool. The radio would be playing and other neighbors would come and go throughout the day. Our pool always seemed to be full of people and I loved it. 

One of the things that Big Grandma taught me was how wonderful books are. She would always bring me little books to have for my very own. She also had a bookcase in her living room that was full of books. I would go over to her house several times a week just to sit on the floor in her living room and look through all the pictures in her books. She never complained about the mess. She was truly happy to have me there as evidenced by the homemade cookies and milk that would appear on the kitchen table before I left.

I love this picture. This is my dad, Grandma Rose in the middle and Big Grandma on the right. They are sitting at the dining room table, the one I now own, in my parents house. Half the neighborhood was there to celebrate Little Grandma's birthday. 

This is my best friend Patty, Kelly, Little Grandma and me at Little Grandma's birthday party. You can see our living room in the background. Patty and I have been friends for fifty-eight years. We lived on the same street, went to the same schools and shared a childhood. We both live in Florida now and we work at the same place. She is sister material. Little Grandma taught me to embroider and knit. She lived to be one hundred and I'm so grateful she was a grandma to all of us Virginia Ave kids. I have two beautiful bowls that belonged to Little Grandma. I love those bowls because just looking at them takes me back to her little bungalow.

There are so many great things in this photo. Little Grandma celebrating her birthday with one of her oldest friends along with the rest of the neighborhood. Her fancy cake on the table with my mother's wedding china. Our oldest granddaughter, Addee Mae now owns my mother's china. This makes me so happy I could cry. Ok, I may have cried several times over it already. I'm hoping, one day, one of the grandchildren will want the dining room set as well. If not, hopefully I'll be dead before they send it off to Goodwill. Just a little Catholic guilt there. Is it working?

So, thats the house I grew up in. It wasn't always happy and it wasn't always perfect but it was a wonderful place to be. The street and all the families were connected to one another. There wasn't a neighbor we didn't know or who didn't know us. If you've ever watched The Wonder Years, that was us. I wouldn't mind getting back to that way of caring about our neighbors. 

I still have the table where all this magic happened. Let's sit and have coffee. It's a start.