My New/Old Home

The very first memoir piece I wrote was for an assignment in the very first memoir-writing class I took. We were told to write about our childhood home. And thus began my career as an amateur memoir writer.

This photograph is from a real estate ad when we moved out (circa 1955).

I don't know for sure when the house was built, but we moved in when I was less than two years old. I know my sister Holly was born after we moved in and I am almost two years older than she is.

We lived here on Main Street until I was nine. I have so many memories of this house and they are still vivid after all of these years. When I was seven, my Dad went to jail for a year and a half and my maternal grandmother (Nana) came to live with us.

My memories of that time revolve very much about visiting my Dad on a prison farm. We had picnic lunches outside and I looked forward to the visits very much. Daddy always referred to that time as "when I was in college."

I remember that money was very tight and for a while we sold Christmas cards door-to-door to make some money. A very grumpy man yelled at me once and pointed to his "No Solicitors" sign as he slammed the door in my face. I learned a new word that day.

I also remember my mother setting up a school in the basement in the summer. I think we had real school desks and a blackboard. She bought lesson books and even though she was teaching us real school subjects, we thought it was fun. I guess any facsimile of school would have been fun next to St. Mary's, but that's another story.

When my Dad got out of jail, my grandmother did not move back to Massachusetts. And that made our three-bedroom house too small (with Mum and Daddy in one room, Holly and I in another, and Bobby in the third). There was no room for Nana. That's when we left Main Street and moved to Waverly Road.

My parents' ended up keeping the Main Street house. Oldsmobile was growing like crazy, spreading its tentacles nearer and nearer to our neighborhood. Daddy figured GM would purchase the property eventually and he would make a good profit that way. So they rented the house out.

The years went by and Oldsmobile never quite made it to our neck of the woods. According to my brother, my Dad was not a very good landlord. He didn't want to be bothered with all the repairs and hassles. He was out of town a lot (following the race track circuit). I guess he also didn't collect the rent on a regular basis, either. Around 1970, Daddy proposed that Bobby move into the Main Street house to avoid the renting dilemma. Eventually, he signed the property over to him and Bobby has owned it ever since.

Bobby lived in that house until after he and Marjie got married (in 1992). They bought a house in St. Johns and moved in 1993 and he has been renting the house out ever since. In an attempt to get out of the rental business, he put the house on the market last year, but the housing market being so bad, he wasn't able to get a decent price for it. Subsequently it has been vacant for over a year.

That's where I come in. When I decided that I needed place of my own, the Main Street house came to mind. My brother was really tentative about renting it to me. He fears it will ruin our friendship. Personally, I think I am the ideal tenant.

When I got the key from him and went over to look at the house, memories flooded back. I was astonished at how little the house has changed over the years. Let me show you around. . .

Here is the house today. Doesn't look much different, does it?

Here is the living room. Except for the woodwork being painted, it is pretty much the same. I love the hardwood floors. Looking into the dining room, you can see the window seat - it was my favorite place in the house.

Here is the front door. It isn't the same door. The old door had a full-length window with a venetian blind on it (safe enough in those days, but an invitation to thieves today).

My most vivid memory of the stairs concerns my sister Holly. She had gone to bed one night and my mother and I were sitting on the front porch watching the cars go by (a favorite evening pastime), when we heard footsteps on the stairs. There was Holly coming slowly down the stairs, one corner of her bedspread in her hand, draped over her shoulder, trailing after her. She was sleepwalking. She did that a lot. She talked in her sleep too. She was a constant source of bedtime amusement as a kid.

Another vivid memory was coming down those stairs on Christmas morning, peeking over the rail to see what Santa had left. Bobby remembers the time there was a big fort with soldiers and indians sitting under the tree. I remember the puppet theater and marionettes (I still have mine).

That's the hall closet on the left. It has the same mirror on the door. And look at that old fashioned heat register.

Below are pictures of the dining room taken from the living room. The door on the right leads to the kitchen -- the last of the oak woodwork left unpainted.

I have so many memories of this room. The furnishings were extraordinary. The huge Chinese painting on the wall, the zebra-striped upholstery on the chairs, the Christmas village on the window seat, the giant candy cane above the doorway to the living room.

Look at the kitchen. Those are the same exact cupboards that have always been there -- a Youngstown pressed steel kitchen (quite the rage in the 50s). They are in surprisingly good condition. The countertops have been updated. And the red scotch plaid wallpaper is gone. I think I would like it better with that blaring wallpaper. This house is too white for me.

Here is the back entry from the garage. This used to be part of the kitchen. The fridge was next to the window and there was a countertop extending down toward the back door. But, if I'm not mistaken, that is the same linoleum on the floor.

Let's go upstairs.

Here's the bathroom. That's me in the mirror taking the picture. This is the only room in the house that isn't painted white. When my brother decides to do color, he does COLOR! I'm going to have fun with this room.

The tub is out of sight next to the door that leads to the roof of the garage. That's where the mural used to be - the tropical beach with the naked lady.

This reminds me of the hamper incident. I was hiding in the clothes hamper and it fell over and broke. I convinced my sister Holly to take the blame. She was younger. I should have known better. When my mother asked what happened to the hamper, Holly freely admitted breaking it. My mother said, "I'll give you some candy if you tell the truth." Holly didn't hesitate. "Dianne did it." Holly could always be bought for candy. We must have been terrible liars. My mother always knew.

Here's the master bedroom. It is going to be my office/ workshop.

And there is the closet that goes from the master bedroom through to the smallest bedroom (the one Holly and I shared). We thought that closet was so cool!

Now, let's go down the basement.

Look at the walls. It is the same knotty pine. It hasn't changed at all.

This is the rec room - where we had our school classes. It is going to be my craft room.

See that linoleum on the floor? The same blue linoleum. This basement hasn't changed one bit.

Look at that one big tile with the sailboat right in the middle of the rec room. Still intact after all these years.

Here's the furnace/laundry room. That flimsy wooden cupboard with the flower decals is still on the wall. The same shelves. The same sink.

My brother had a shower and toilet over here when he lived here. He used the rec room as his bedroom and hardly used the upstairs at all.

How many people would find their childhood home so intact after 60 years? I'm not altogether sure that is a good thing. A few improvements would be nice. Anyone know of a good portable dishwasher for sale? Living here is going to be interesting. There are a lot of stairs for my ailing knees. But there is a lot of space for my crafts too. I am very excited. It has a few faults, But it will be a place of my own. And a place that is brimming with happy memories. How could that not rub off on my troubled soul?

© Copyright March 2008 - dianne johns  

If you are interested in reading that first memoir piece I wrote about this house click here.