09.08.08

There's a chance I'll be moving into one of the houses my grandparent's own and rent out. It's a small, old house with hardwood floors, a garage, a fireplace and a big backyard. The best part about this little house is that I lived in it from kindergarten to third grade with my Mom and younger sister. I remember learning to ride my bike in the front yard, with my teddy bear (creatively named Teddy) in a basket over the handlebars. I remember running around the yard with Autumn, our Airedale (the most patient dog on the planet). I'd strap a blanket over her back with a belt and sometimes tie a stuffed animal on top -- she was the closest I had to a horse. I remember eating fish sticks and hot dogs at the kitchen table on warm, summer evenings. I remember sharing a room with my sister and leaping from one bed to the other, never touching the ground because it was a huge shark-infested ocean and we had to stay safely on our ships. We stored pots and pans under the beds so we could cook the fish we caught for dinner and considered ourselves fierce pirates. I remember coming home from school one day to find my hamster, Honeybear, missing. I later found out my sister had decided to take him to the front porch to read him a story and left him on the steps to get another book. He was never found. I remember the pepper tree in the front yard, with it's long, drooping branches and hard, little, red berries. I remember my Mother, so young and pretty, who loved us so much that looking back I don't have one bad memory. Not one.
It would be pretty amazing if it works out and I move in -- the place holds so much...