To begin with let it be known that I am not typing this. Rachel has been so kind as to be my proxy typist. Also let it be known that whatever I say, she writes, without interference or unasked for editing. The words will be spelled correctly because I have spell check.
Happy 4th of July (belated).
As of late it is extremely difficult for me to type because my right arm feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. Even when I get my eye gaze it will take a while to learn how to use it properly. Rachel can nearly type as fast as I think. It's freaky. I mean really freaky.
I'm not going to dwell on what's going on with me, I think everyone pretty much knows what's happening. If I have any major developments, good or bad, you'll be the second to know.
How about I do something as stupid as to describe my house, built in 1962, when I was 4, a house I lived in until halfway through 3rd grade. I have no idea how I can describe the architectural details with a memory of an 8 year old. I have not been in that house since then.
Here goes: The house was a typical 3 bedroom ranch, easily found in nearly every tract neighborhood in the country.
Third grade recollection:
The house had a single stall garage on the left end, 8 foot wide by 7 foot tall overhead door in the front and a 3 foot 0 inch service door in the back. If you recall, at one point, on a dark day in (maybe) 1965, the overhead door was nailed shut and I helped my mom drag my dad out the service door out the back.
The front door, generally centrally located, entered the living room to the left side, a coat closet behind the door as it swung open, allowing for a telephone niche beyond. At the opposite end of the room stood a Zenith tv. An old coffin stereo could be found against the center wall of the room, along with a handful of albums, amongst them, my favorite, Roger Williams (You Can't Rollerskate in Buffalo Herd). On the other side of the center wall was the kitchen and eating area. To the left of the eating area was an opening to a small family room, where my mom did all her ironing. Behind the family room was the laundry/mud room and entrance to the garage. The only way into the crawlspace was gained by pulling the landing away from the door. I know this because at least one time the entire family had to dive into the crawlspace during a tornado.
Adjacent to the tv, was the hallway to the bedrooms. The first door on the right was my bedroom. The door straight ahead at the end of the hallway was my sisters bedroom. Near the end of the hallway on the left was my mom and dad's room. Coming back down the hall toward the living room was the bathroom. If we had a second bathroom, I never saw it. In fact, I'm sure we had only one bathroom because my dad let me shave with him, he using a Schick or Gillette or whatever, then unscrewed and opened up the top to install double edged blades. My razor was identical except that it was made out of plastic and the double edged blade was made out of cardboard. If you wonder about furniture placement, my recollection is that my mom's bed was diagonally placed. I am certain of this because prior to one Christmas, I snuck into her room and found my tricycle in the triangle behind the bed. Being stupid, I told mom what I found. Enough said.
Let me continue about this house:
How about some dry boring information about what I remember of the general construction of our house in Wonder Lake. The roof was probably a 5/12 pitch, maybe a 4. Three in one shingles. The front of the house had brick halfway up. The siding was a Masonite product. The overhangs were wood, likely about 2 foot wide. The original color, I think, was tan, or maybe pale green. The garden was off to the right of the house. My dad planted a Japanese elm in the center of the front yard, most likely because it was cheap or free. I don't know of anyone who voluntarily plants elm trees in their yard.
Back inside, the entire house had hardwood floors, 1 1/2 inch wide, and probably 1/2 inch thick, typical of the times, layed by my dad. Smooth doors, ranch casing, ranch base.
What went on:
I distinctly remember that the favorite implement of my corporal punishment was a hairbrush. It's hard to get the feeling. Our babysitters often used the term 'keen.' This was the house I lived in when I killed the chicken and we had it for dinner. This is the house I lived in when me and my friends hauled all the bales of hay to one location only to have the farmer load them up the next day. This is the house I lived in when my dad got mad, tore the phone out of the wall and pitched it toward the tv. I'm thankful to this day for his inaccuracy. This is the house I lived in when JFK was killed. This is the house I lived in when I learned how to take care of a pony, bridle it, ride it, feed it, and after a time, hate it. Along with responsibility, for an 8 year old, comes disdain. This is the house I lived in where my mom and I witnessed lightning passing through from window to window (or so it seemed). This is the house I lived in when a tornado picked up my sisters playhouse and tossed it into the field, consequently ending up in a tree at my cousins house. This is the house I lived in when I met my first love, Ruthy, in kindergarten. This is the house I lived in when I was little.
Happy 4th of July (belated).
As of late it is extremely difficult for me to type because my right arm feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. Even when I get my eye gaze it will take a while to learn how to use it properly. Rachel can nearly type as fast as I think. It's freaky. I mean really freaky.
I'm not going to dwell on what's going on with me, I think everyone pretty much knows what's happening. If I have any major developments, good or bad, you'll be the second to know.
How about I do something as stupid as to describe my house, built in 1962, when I was 4, a house I lived in until halfway through 3rd grade. I have no idea how I can describe the architectural details with a memory of an 8 year old. I have not been in that house since then.
Here goes: The house was a typical 3 bedroom ranch, easily found in nearly every tract neighborhood in the country.
Third grade recollection:
The house had a single stall garage on the left end, 8 foot wide by 7 foot tall overhead door in the front and a 3 foot 0 inch service door in the back. If you recall, at one point, on a dark day in (maybe) 1965, the overhead door was nailed shut and I helped my mom drag my dad out the service door out the back.
The front door, generally centrally located, entered the living room to the left side, a coat closet behind the door as it swung open, allowing for a telephone niche beyond. At the opposite end of the room stood a Zenith tv. An old coffin stereo could be found against the center wall of the room, along with a handful of albums, amongst them, my favorite, Roger Williams (You Can't Rollerskate in Buffalo Herd). On the other side of the center wall was the kitchen and eating area. To the left of the eating area was an opening to a small family room, where my mom did all her ironing. Behind the family room was the laundry/mud room and entrance to the garage. The only way into the crawlspace was gained by pulling the landing away from the door. I know this because at least one time the entire family had to dive into the crawlspace during a tornado.
Adjacent to the tv, was the hallway to the bedrooms. The first door on the right was my bedroom. The door straight ahead at the end of the hallway was my sisters bedroom. Near the end of the hallway on the left was my mom and dad's room. Coming back down the hall toward the living room was the bathroom. If we had a second bathroom, I never saw it. In fact, I'm sure we had only one bathroom because my dad let me shave with him, he using a Schick or Gillette or whatever, then unscrewed and opened up the top to install double edged blades. My razor was identical except that it was made out of plastic and the double edged blade was made out of cardboard. If you wonder about furniture placement, my recollection is that my mom's bed was diagonally placed. I am certain of this because prior to one Christmas, I snuck into her room and found my tricycle in the triangle behind the bed. Being stupid, I told mom what I found. Enough said.
Let me continue about this house:
How about some dry boring information about what I remember of the general construction of our house in Wonder Lake. The roof was probably a 5/12 pitch, maybe a 4. Three in one shingles. The front of the house had brick halfway up. The siding was a Masonite product. The overhangs were wood, likely about 2 foot wide. The original color, I think, was tan, or maybe pale green. The garden was off to the right of the house. My dad planted a Japanese elm in the center of the front yard, most likely because it was cheap or free. I don't know of anyone who voluntarily plants elm trees in their yard.
Back inside, the entire house had hardwood floors, 1 1/2 inch wide, and probably 1/2 inch thick, typical of the times, layed by my dad. Smooth doors, ranch casing, ranch base.
What went on:
I distinctly remember that the favorite implement of my corporal punishment was a hairbrush. It's hard to get the feeling. Our babysitters often used the term 'keen.' This was the house I lived in when I killed the chicken and we had it for dinner. This is the house I lived in when me and my friends hauled all the bales of hay to one location only to have the farmer load them up the next day. This is the house I lived in when my dad got mad, tore the phone out of the wall and pitched it toward the tv. I'm thankful to this day for his inaccuracy. This is the house I lived in when JFK was killed. This is the house I lived in when I learned how to take care of a pony, bridle it, ride it, feed it, and after a time, hate it. Along with responsibility, for an 8 year old, comes disdain. This is the house I lived in where my mom and I witnessed lightning passing through from window to window (or so it seemed). This is the house I lived in when a tornado picked up my sisters playhouse and tossed it into the field, consequently ending up in a tree at my cousins house. This is the house I lived in when I met my first love, Ruthy, in kindergarten. This is the house I lived in when I was little.
cool! good to hear from you again! I will have you on my mind tomorrow,I get my Belt. As you already know,you have renewed my energy and spirit,I only wish I could find a way to do the same for you! Rachel: you are awesome,even if you couldn't type.
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