In the closet in the room that I’m sleeping in upstairs, there’s a small door that leads to the attic storage space. I used to call it the “me sized door.” I would also hide here for hide and seek from my brother and sister, until one time they couldn’t find me and just gave up and then I was in there for way too long and didn’t want to ever go back in there by the time my cousin Zach was around.
The space underneath the top of the stairs out of the basement used to freak me out as a small child, but soon came to be a clever hiding place from my “baby” cousin Zach. He was gullible and would fall for anything.
When I was really little, I can remember my entire family keeping their snow boots under these stairs, certainly a clever space to make more storage.
This is my grandpa’s old workshop in the basement. It used to have a lot more stuff in it, before he died, although you can see the 11 rolls of tape on the wall, most of them different kinds of duct tape.
On the other side was my play space, where I would build train sets all around and make arts and crafts. I think all four of us grandchildren played in this space in our youth. My grandma still has the artwork we made taped to the wall beside the Velcro ball dart game I would always play… There’s a piece of construction paper with “S-A-R-A” sloppily cut out and colored and a small paper man next to it. I can vaguely remember making that paper man with grandma helping and her fixing his croch area after I had already cut it out.
This is the kitchen, the life of the house. Through the door you can get to the porch, where we would always have to have dinner when the five of us would visit. On the counter next to the sink, the college grandparent mug that I got my grandma is just sitting there, like it was the only mug she drank her coffee out of before she had her accident. I can remember coming downstairs in the mornings, being greeted by the smell of my grandma’s French toast that she would cook for breakfast for me. It was one of the last things she would actually cook anymore.
When you’re sitting on the toilet in the bathroom downstairs, this is the picture you see. My sister drew it while she was in high school. This is why I’ll never feel as talented, beautiful, or as smart as her.
This is the den. When I don’t sleep upstairs, I sleep down here on the couch. The blue chair to the left is where you could always find my grandfather when he was alive.
These stairs have creaked my entire life, although I used to weigh little enough where they wouldn’t creak when I walked on them.
The family pictures on the wall include my great grandparents, a family picture of my grandparents and their children and my mom and my two siblings. Neither my aunt or my uncle were married at this point, and my brother is small enough to be sitting in my mom’s lap. My grandma looks happy in this picture.
There’s a picture of my uncle and his wife’s wedding. A picture of my aunt and cousin Zach, who’s been bigger than me since he was 5 and I was 9. Also the family picture that my mom had us take when I was in fourth grade, so my brother was a senior in high school and Lizzy was a sophomore in college. And the recent addition of my senior year picture from high school.
Also, that weird fan thing has been there as long as I can remember.
Here’s the tub upstairs. A few of things about this one:
The faucet looks like a waterfall. I was fascinated by this as a small child and there is still part of me that wants one.
Yes. That’s a window. In the shower. They don’t have fans in the bathroom up here, that’s the only way to let the steam out of the room.
One time when I was really young, my parents dropped me off to stay with my grandma by myself. She’s a neat freak, and after I absolutely refused to take a bath for three days, my parents had to come and pick me up. I guess you could say I got my stubbornness from my grandma, as we both wouldn’t budge on the subject. I don’t remember this memory, but my parents tell me the story. I think it’s hilarious that three or four year old me came to a stale mate with my grandma.
This is the bed and the room I’m sleeping in this time. It used to be my uncle and dad’s room until they moved out of the house. I can remember crawling into this bed when I was little, wanting to sleep with my parents instead of alone. It was Christmas Eve, and a couple hours later I had to get up to use the bathroom. My mom advised that I not look downstairs or I might see Santa putting presents under the Christmas tree.
It just got dark out. It’s 10:05pm. The sky was still light at 9:40 from the sun setting. This is what happens when you’re at the western end of an eastern time zone and up north during the summer. In late June, it will still be light out at 10:30pm. #bizarre
Side story: we have the windows open to the house. Someone just got in a wreck a couple blocks away.
