DOZ Issue 31 May 2018 - Page 31

The old house had very large rooms, both upstairs and down, and wonderful porches. Downstairs there was an open porch all around the front, which also wrapped around one side of the house. Upstairs there was a big screened sun porch. If this were the end of my attraction to this big house, it would still be special, but the story continues. My best friend while growing up, then made the old house her home on a couple of occasions. Her family owned the local gas station; and she lived in a smaller home at the side of the service station, when they did not reside in the big house. again my feet walked the floors of this historic house. My latest update on the big old house brings sadness. On vacation last summer we drove through my “old stomping ground.” When we saw the house, it almost took my breath away. It had some kind of signs that implied it was ready for destruction. It looked very much like homes all across America, neglected, run down, and no longer safe. So, the next time I drive through that area I am The years she spent in the big house were exciting as we would play in the large closets, and sleep on the sun porch during hot summer nights. Outside it even had an old hen house, fixed up to be a playhouse for her! So, once again the house was a part of me. I could walk the long upstairs hallway or descend the stairs...It was almost like it was still “in the family.” Years passed, and the old home place was turned into an apartment house. I would visit the newest occupants, in this strangely familiar setting. It had new trappings, a “facelift”; but under the new paint and paneling, there stood that same old home place. I married and moved out of the state. I returned to visit my parents and got to enter the warmth of that old house again. My young