The House I Grew Up In

In preparation for our move to Scotland, I recently accomplished a huge goal. I culled down a lifetime of memories - letters, photos, albums, etc. into two waterproof containers ready for storage. I also took digital photos of most of the images so I'd have them in a format I could use and play with.
     It made me rather nostalgic looking back at all those photos. There are so many stories and I thought I might share a few...

     This is the house I grew up in as a child. It was a new neighborhood at the time, although it's now buried between strip shopping malls and suburban sprawl. There were few large trees back then - our view looked out over farmland (we called it "the field"). Our back yards bordered the field, laced together like one uninterrupted picnic blanket.
     Even then, I dreamed of flying.

     My father told me that if I ran fast enough and flapped my arms hard enough, I would. I was just a kid - maybe five or six - and I believed him. So many evenings folks could look out their window to find that strange neighbor girl running across their back yards, flapping her arms like a goose. I'd return home and swear that I'd gotten off the ground. It began a theme that ran through my life for many years (the flying part). But that is for a later post... CLICK HERE to read more.


Terri Foschini said…
It must be the house of a million hopes, dreams and memories.

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