Spacious: it seemed so incredibly big to me as a kid.
Cold: I remember always wanting to bundle up during the long winters, I remember no heat register in my little bedroom, and sleeping in my slumber bag under my blankets on my bed on cold winter nights, ironically, to this day, I prefer to sleep in a cold bedroom. Though we had a fireplace, dad deemed it too unsafe to use, and it was years, probably when I was about 15 years old, that dad build a new fireplace. I spent what seemed like endless hours in front of the fireplace soaking in its warmth, to this day, I have had a fireplace in every home we have owned.
Pretty: now I know my dad would disagree with this, but I always thought our home was pretty.(of course, I looked at the world through a child’s eyes because after all, I was a child) From its fake bricks (called insulbrick) on the outside, to the dilapidated old porch weathered and gray and deemed so unsafe by my mother that we weren't allowed to step a foot on it. I loved the peeling paint, the windows with the small cracks and even holes in them.
Welcoming: You know, you realize that it isn't the content of a home that makes it cozy. Though we didn't have a lot in the beginning as far as fancy furnishing, my mom didn't hesitate (much to my father's chagrin) to have family and friends over for the holidays, etc. I have memories of smells permeating from the oven, adult conversations that kids just eavesdropped on, and compliments being given to my mom for being such a good hostess. Homes are about the people in them and the relationships made between the walls, not all the fancy stuff.
Clean: I know this is an odd one, "clean", but you had to understand my mother, my mother could have lived in a tent, and it would be immaculate. Just because the vinyl flooring was torn and worn, didn't mean it didn't get cleaned. Just because the old porcelain sinks were stained from the hard water, did not mean they were less deserving of being cleaned. Mom chased down every cobweb, every crumb on the kitchen floor to give us a clean home. As we got older she delegated some of the work to my sister and me, and though I know that this builds character in children to do chores, I know that I would have rather been playing with my dolls and my sister reading a book.
I could write so much more about that old house that I called home. It doesn’t exist anymore outside my memories as through the years my dad completely re-modeled the entire house. Gone are the fake bricks replaced by a creamy siding. The slate roof has been replaced by modern shingles, the old dilapidated porch replaced with a beautiful Victorian wrap around porch. You won’t find peeling paint, or torn vinyl on the floors, the floors have long been ripped up and replaced with solid oak flooring, lovingly laid by my father’s hands.
I feel certain that my friends missed out not experiencing what I did as a young child. Growing up in my old house gave me an appreciation for all things. It took me a long time to realize that we had so little, probably because despite the lack of material possessions, I actually had everything I really needed.
~Lori
*my mom doing yard work, notice the fake brick :)
*An aerial shot of the house, probably taken in late 1970's? I always loved the blue house :) You can also see the old chimney going up through the center of the house.
*The porch decorated for July 4th, 2011, swing hanging from one of the original oak trees on the property, probably about 100 years old. (this picture is taken just behind the first picture posted of my mom with the garden hose)
