Originally uploaded by Bloomington Girl.
Many of you know that I have been on a whirlwind tour of the Northeast with Jack while Chris toiled away at work and ate fried eggs for dinner each night. I am SO glad to be back but I must say that I enjoyed most of the trip immensely. Jack was a great traveller. I am a bit tired to go into all details, so I will do it in installments, as the spirit moves me.
Our trip schedule was to be in my home town at my parents' house, the very house in which I grew up, on Wed, Fri & Sunday nights. Thurs we would visit my dear friend Cindy & her family in a nearby town and on Saturday, we would be in Connecticut.
Well, Wednesday evening, we arrived at my childhood home. I grew up on the block of Bellinger Ave that is not only one-way but is so narrow that you have to park half-way up on the sidewalk. Anyone driving past a parked car must drive up on the opposite sidewalk. The block has been called Pig-Tail Alley as long as I can remember. As a kid, whenever I had to give someone's parents directions to our house to pick me up or drop me off, I used to say that we lived half-way up Pig-Tail Alley in the toothpaste green house.
Years ago, when my folks decided to have aluminum siding put on the house, they chose a strange shade of green. It was originally a nice little white house with dark green shutters. The choice of this wacky green was odd, because my mother was always quick to derisively comment on the unusual colors that the "DPs" chose for their homes. (DP meant Displaced Person, often having "come over on the boat". For a long time I thought DPs were only Italian because she used the term most for Italians. My mother's own parents were DPs from the Ukraine or somewhere like that where cabbage is a popular staple. But, I digress.
Back to the house of my childhood. It is incredibly tiny and there is not more than ten feet between it and the house next door. I remember it as being sort of small growing up. I know that everything looks small when you go home as an adult. But to be fair, my parents have become sort of packrats in their advancing age and the tiny toothpaste green house is packed with all sorts of stuff, mostly dust collecting crap if you ask me...but of course, nobody does ask me. So, the house seems smaller and smaller as it fills up more and more with these irrelevent items. My mother constantly complains about my father collecting stuff and not being willing to throw anything out, but I took a good look around on this trip and I see now that he is clearly only part of the problem. She is almost as bad.
Let's talk about the kitchen. My mother's domain for sure. The kitchen is so packed with stuff that my mother has taken to storing snacks in the upper oven and all of her frying pans in the lower oven, the door for which lost its springs years ago and falls open heavily when pulled. KABOOM. Whenever my mother needs to use an oven, she has to empty out its contents first. It is me? Am I the only person who finds this incredibly odd? And, a fire hazzard to boot? There would be plenty of cupboard space if my mom would just clear out the four or so cupboards which are never opened because they are packed with stuff she NEVER USES. The kitchen table is too big for the kitchen and if four people are seated at it, one cannot get to any part of the kitchen without at least two people getting up.
Ooops...I just realized it is getting very late and I have to get some sleep. I will write more tomorrow. My home town stories must be told!