the art of remembering
When you walked in through the front door, you were in the living room. However, we usually entered through the garage and I used to even pretend to be asleep in the car so that my father would carry me over his shoulder all the way through the basement and up the stairs. I can imagine that the stairs led to a door and through that door, into a hallway. To turn right would bring you to the living room, left to the dining room/kitchen. In the living room, we had grey furniture draped with the same Mexican blankets that are in the living room that I write this from.
There was a fireplace, but no memories of a fire. A television set next to a bay window. A fish tank with a purple fluorescent light.
In the dining room, there was a metal table that my grandfather gave to my mother. It used to be in a dining area at a state hospital. The chairs were always freezing. Behind it, an out-of-place china cabinet. Beyond the table, a sliding glass door leading to the back porch and yard. You could also walk into the kitchen. Out of date, even for the 80s, with an island separating half of it from the dining room. The floor was a series of brown and orange rectangles all glossy on top. From the window above the sink, my mother could watch us in the back yard while washing dishes. For some period of time, we had tadpoles in a jug on top of the fridge.
Down the hall in the opposite direction, my room was the first on the right. The walls were yellow with some red pigment, but not quite enough to be "orange". They were decorated with a banner; a repeated image of a teddy bear holding balloons. My bed was nestled in the corner farthest from the door. The dresser was the same dresser that I have in my room now, a large white 1960s take on a classic baroque. The mirror and drawers have gold scrolling and accents. It has a lingerie chest to match.
Across from my room, the bathroom. Standard one-sink, tub with shower, and toilet. A window from which the back yard can be seen.
Next to my room, a little bit down the hall, my parents' room. A hard thing to remember considering that since the early 90s I have barely seen my parents in the same room at the same time and cannot imagine them sharing one. Their bed was in the middle. My father had a large chest of drawers, it had big squares on it to pull it out. My mother's hope chest was at the end of the bed. Her dresser had dainty metal parts for opening.
My brother's room was at the end of the hall. He had his bed with a night stand next to it. On the wall, there was a picture of a boy praying with some sort of text (the lord's prayer?) and also a piece of wood painted with his name and a train. There was a second bathroom off of his room, but the tub was used for storage. I don't remember if the toilet was used. Once my brother found a bug in the tub and washed it down the drain- I remember being astonished that the water actually worked because we never took baths in there.
I lived in this house from the time that I was born in 1988 until probably 1991 or 1992 when my parents divorced and subsequently sold the house. The house was blue. It had a long gravel driveway. The front of the house had a small porch with cement stairs and a walkway that my parents put in (made of bricks) leading to the driveway. While completing this project, my father dropped the cement stairs on my mother's leg, crushing it, using the backhoe.
It was number 240 on Mendon Street in Blackstone. My phone number was 883-3309. I used to stand in front of the door before I was old enough to go to school and recite these things to my mother (along with my ABCs and counting) to prove to her that I was smart enough to go to school just like my brother.
I tried to look up the house on google maps, but there was no street level view. I wasn't really surprised by this, the house was in the middle of nowhere.
There was a fireplace, but no memories of a fire. A television set next to a bay window. A fish tank with a purple fluorescent light.
In the dining room, there was a metal table that my grandfather gave to my mother. It used to be in a dining area at a state hospital. The chairs were always freezing. Behind it, an out-of-place china cabinet. Beyond the table, a sliding glass door leading to the back porch and yard. You could also walk into the kitchen. Out of date, even for the 80s, with an island separating half of it from the dining room. The floor was a series of brown and orange rectangles all glossy on top. From the window above the sink, my mother could watch us in the back yard while washing dishes. For some period of time, we had tadpoles in a jug on top of the fridge.
Down the hall in the opposite direction, my room was the first on the right. The walls were yellow with some red pigment, but not quite enough to be "orange". They were decorated with a banner; a repeated image of a teddy bear holding balloons. My bed was nestled in the corner farthest from the door. The dresser was the same dresser that I have in my room now, a large white 1960s take on a classic baroque. The mirror and drawers have gold scrolling and accents. It has a lingerie chest to match.
Across from my room, the bathroom. Standard one-sink, tub with shower, and toilet. A window from which the back yard can be seen.
Next to my room, a little bit down the hall, my parents' room. A hard thing to remember considering that since the early 90s I have barely seen my parents in the same room at the same time and cannot imagine them sharing one. Their bed was in the middle. My father had a large chest of drawers, it had big squares on it to pull it out. My mother's hope chest was at the end of the bed. Her dresser had dainty metal parts for opening.
My brother's room was at the end of the hall. He had his bed with a night stand next to it. On the wall, there was a picture of a boy praying with some sort of text (the lord's prayer?) and also a piece of wood painted with his name and a train. There was a second bathroom off of his room, but the tub was used for storage. I don't remember if the toilet was used. Once my brother found a bug in the tub and washed it down the drain- I remember being astonished that the water actually worked because we never took baths in there.
I lived in this house from the time that I was born in 1988 until probably 1991 or 1992 when my parents divorced and subsequently sold the house. The house was blue. It had a long gravel driveway. The front of the house had a small porch with cement stairs and a walkway that my parents put in (made of bricks) leading to the driveway. While completing this project, my father dropped the cement stairs on my mother's leg, crushing it, using the backhoe.
It was number 240 on Mendon Street in Blackstone. My phone number was 883-3309. I used to stand in front of the door before I was old enough to go to school and recite these things to my mother (along with my ABCs and counting) to prove to her that I was smart enough to go to school just like my brother.
I tried to look up the house on google maps, but there was no street level view. I wasn't really surprised by this, the house was in the middle of nowhere.