Feb. 8: The home you grew up in
From impensada
(I know, I'm a day behind...)
I moved a lot as a kid. Not every six months or anything, like a military brat. My father built houses (yes, that's certainly where my interest in working with wood and building things came from), so we'd live in one house while he was building another and then move into the new one while he sold the previous and started on the next. He cranked them out with surprisingly regularity in the years right before and right after I was born. My parents also separated when I was eight or nine and divorced a few years later, and my mother and I had a rather itinerant lifestyle for a while.
But I did live in one house for about four years when I was between the ages of six and ten, before the parental schism became irreparable, and I guess I'd have to consider that the house I grew up in because I remember it the most. I feel very lucky to have lived there. Why? Well...
This was within walking distance.
My dad was the property manager for a group of homeowners living on what the snobby people call the "Gold Coast" of Lake Tahoe. We lived on site in a nice little house right off the highway. It was like living in the past, in some place magical. The snow would pile up to the eves in the winter. We had a creek with glittering mica at the bottom, and a mountain to scale on the other side of the highway. And during the summer I would rise with the sun, eat breakfast, and walk down to the beach. Generally, I wasn't home until after dark.
I'll develop more on this another time, I think, because this was an amazing place to have lived, and the characters were worked for were fascinating people in their own right.
(I know, I'm a day behind...)
I moved a lot as a kid. Not every six months or anything, like a military brat. My father built houses (yes, that's certainly where my interest in working with wood and building things came from), so we'd live in one house while he was building another and then move into the new one while he sold the previous and started on the next. He cranked them out with surprisingly regularity in the years right before and right after I was born. My parents also separated when I was eight or nine and divorced a few years later, and my mother and I had a rather itinerant lifestyle for a while.
But I did live in one house for about four years when I was between the ages of six and ten, before the parental schism became irreparable, and I guess I'd have to consider that the house I grew up in because I remember it the most. I feel very lucky to have lived there. Why? Well...
This was within walking distance.
My dad was the property manager for a group of homeowners living on what the snobby people call the "Gold Coast" of Lake Tahoe. We lived on site in a nice little house right off the highway. It was like living in the past, in some place magical. The snow would pile up to the eves in the winter. We had a creek with glittering mica at the bottom, and a mountain to scale on the other side of the highway. And during the summer I would rise with the sun, eat breakfast, and walk down to the beach. Generally, I wasn't home until after dark.
I'll develop more on this another time, I think, because this was an amazing place to have lived, and the characters were worked for were fascinating people in their own right.