I feel like a one-track record right now in my blogging. Everything's Panera. Sorry for the monotony. But since I mentioned it, I did have a great day today, as I felt more knowledgeable than ever- even doing OK during the lunch rush. So because of the good day, I feel like I need to talk about something else this afternoon. So here I go . . .
It's been interesting living back in the home in which I grew up. It's actually way better than when I was growing up. Mom and Dad don't even question that there's a girl in bed with me every night. Um, sorry if that last sentence was too graphic for my kin-folk, but it IS pretty cool.
My dad built this house back in 1980. Because it was "homemade" it's always been a work in progress. For instance, this room that I'm in right now [currently serving as the computer room] was mine and my brothers' room for most of my childhood; it wasn't until I was in junior high that dad finished a couple of rooms in the basement for Tim and me. The room next door is now being used as a playroom for all the grandkids, but it used to be Becky's room. We moved into this house just before she was born. I remember when they brought her home from the hospital. And the master bedroom became Tim and mine when my Grandmother remarried; there's an in-laws apartment that my parents moved their bedroom into. We later had to give it up again when my mother's parents moved up here from Maysville.
Even better than the house was all the land. My parents own about seven acres of wooded land with a creek running through the middle of it. Growing up, we explored every inch of this property and some that wasn't ours [one day while playing the woods we encountered a guy carrying a hand gun because he thought we were poaching on his property]. It wasn't until recently that I realized how fortunate we were to be able to live in such a cool place.
Some fascinating memories have drifted into my mind during the past few days here. Today was garbage day, which meant the trash always had to be taken out on Monday night. This was another reason to hate Mondays because the trash was kept behind the house. The house is situated on the side of a hill, so it was a bear drag the garbage all the way around the building. Since then, my dad put a driveway in all the way around the house and they now have garbage cans with wheels, so it's not as bad. I was grinning to myself as I took it to the curb last night.
There's so many other great memories/stories. Here's a topical listing of some of the best. If any look interesting let me know and I'll expound on them:
-The bull in the side yard
-Tim and the drunk guys
-Twenty foot high bonfires
-The clubhouse
-The creek
-Mowing our weird/wacky yard
-Moving the woodpile
-Kittens everywhere
-The death of our neighbors ducks
-Running military exercises in the woods
And that's without even thinking hard about it. I wouldn't trade my childhood here for anything. It's really been fun being home, but I'm ready to leave . . . for the second time.
It's been interesting living back in the home in which I grew up. It's actually way better than when I was growing up. Mom and Dad don't even question that there's a girl in bed with me every night. Um, sorry if that last sentence was too graphic for my kin-folk, but it IS pretty cool.
My dad built this house back in 1980. Because it was "homemade" it's always been a work in progress. For instance, this room that I'm in right now [currently serving as the computer room] was mine and my brothers' room for most of my childhood; it wasn't until I was in junior high that dad finished a couple of rooms in the basement for Tim and me. The room next door is now being used as a playroom for all the grandkids, but it used to be Becky's room. We moved into this house just before she was born. I remember when they brought her home from the hospital. And the master bedroom became Tim and mine when my Grandmother remarried; there's an in-laws apartment that my parents moved their bedroom into. We later had to give it up again when my mother's parents moved up here from Maysville.
Even better than the house was all the land. My parents own about seven acres of wooded land with a creek running through the middle of it. Growing up, we explored every inch of this property and some that wasn't ours [one day while playing the woods we encountered a guy carrying a hand gun because he thought we were poaching on his property]. It wasn't until recently that I realized how fortunate we were to be able to live in such a cool place.
Some fascinating memories have drifted into my mind during the past few days here. Today was garbage day, which meant the trash always had to be taken out on Monday night. This was another reason to hate Mondays because the trash was kept behind the house. The house is situated on the side of a hill, so it was a bear drag the garbage all the way around the building. Since then, my dad put a driveway in all the way around the house and they now have garbage cans with wheels, so it's not as bad. I was grinning to myself as I took it to the curb last night.
There's so many other great memories/stories. Here's a topical listing of some of the best. If any look interesting let me know and I'll expound on them:
-The bull in the side yard
-Tim and the drunk guys
-Twenty foot high bonfires
-The clubhouse
-The creek
-Mowing our weird/wacky yard
-Moving the woodpile
-Kittens everywhere
-The death of our neighbors ducks
-Running military exercises in the woods
And that's without even thinking hard about it. I wouldn't trade my childhood here for anything. It's really been fun being home, but I'm ready to leave . . . for the second time.