My Childhood Home

My childhood home. It was a grand, old farmhouse. Located at 1297 Old Darby Road (later changed to 2811 Old Darby Road), Darby, Montana, was fondly nicknamed “The White House” – whether by envious neighbors or because of the many people coming and going didn’t matter. To me, it was a palace, an incredible masterpiece that demanded the attention of a four, year old wrapped in the world of make-believe.

It didn’t take long for the oil drum for the furnace outside the window of the family room to be changed into a giant horse, which when painted white to match the siding on the house became the white stallion that would save all the damsels in distress.

The steep, narrow stairs to the upstairs became a perfect “mountain” for those rainy or snowy days on pillowcases or cookie sheets. You took your life in your own hands if you happened to walk around the corner on one of our many sledding expeditions.

The balcony outside my parents’ bedroom hosted many a scene from Romeo and Juliet. Not to mention ways of “breaking” into the mansion when we inadvertently locked ourselves out while playing Sherlock Holmes.

The ¾ wrap around porch was the arena for all of our olympic skating events, basketball tournaments, circus performances on the metal railings, and hours of sanding and painting.

The plaster walls in our bedrooms became wonderful and exciting archaeological digs for those evenings when sleep wouldn’t come and we were to “entertain” ourselves quietly in our beds.

The dungeon, or root cellar, filled hours of imagination as we crawled through spider webs, mouse droppings, jumped from apple barrel to apple barrel, swung from nylons full of onions, and even nursed baby kittens found under the stairs.

I’m sure my parents never dreamed of the games of hide-and-seek in the dirty clothes in the laundry, racing around the “oval” the stairs made of the outside rooms as we screeched and yelled in games of tag, late nights with the older siblings listening to their stories which at times ended in broken windows, the broken tiles on the roof left as evidence of sneaking from room-to-room not in the house but outside on the overhang, or the wonderful telephone games we would play as we shouted to each other through the heater vents.

My childhood home was filled with smells of baking bread, delicious meals, music, laughter, a flurry of activity, loving parents, quiet moments of reading, gospel study, and happy memories. I love and miss my childhood home – even more now that I need to create one of my own.

Our Crowning Jewels!!

Miffed and sniffing!!!!

I am writing and getting a load off my chest -- I knew there was something there under all of that!!

I all want you to know the reason my blog is boring and pathetic looking. You see, my mentor has taken an unauthorized sabbatical. While I am here sweating and grimacing at this stupid computer, she is home being waited on hand and foot. Let me paint you a picture, thus helping you all feel my pain and suffering.

For a week she had servants selecting her menu, doing the shopping, and literally putting the food right in her body. Laundry??? We won't even go there. Sheets were changed, fresh towels provided, and her pillow plumped on demand. Royalty is what comes to mind when I think of the patience of the attendants even changing her clothes. She didn't even have to change the toilet paper roll. I even heard from the spider on the wall there were times she was so caught up in herself she had the hired help bring the bathroom facilities to her. Talk about first-rate service.

A nice, little, old lady came and would read to her, fix her hair, be her answering service, and even crocheted a blanket that she would wrap herself in.

When it was time for exercise, the machines were brought to her. I also heard from my "spider" that if my mentor decided she was too tired to exercise the hired help would push the machine for her. What will they think of next?

She has since relocated. She got tired of the hired help she originally had and has now moved on. Some people can be so ungrateful. She now lounges in bed and chats with her friends on the Internet. She will tell you she is homebound, but my "spider" told me she was seen carousing around the school during school hours.

So, here I sit. Wallowing in my incompetence. Completely lost and cursing. Don't you feel sorry for me?