A place from
your past or childhood, one that you’re fond of, is destroyed. Write it a
memorial.
Ode to the House on Westmoreland
I can still
see my mom’s colorful petunias in their planters on the open brick porch of
your 2 stories.
How I loved
the honeysuckle, which grew on the back fence of your large, green backyard,
enjoyed while camping out on our trampoline under the stars.
I will
always remember the days of using dad’s video camera to record my BFF and I
dressing up in trench coats and hats and pretending to be the stars in a
mystery show in your sunken den.
Oh the
memories of putting on plays with my brother and friends in your upstairs
playroom.
How I adored
playing cruise ship with the Estes family in our Jack and Jill closets and
hide-a-way under the eve of your roof.
I can still
picture your formal living room was where I learned to play piano and the
formal dining room where I had my 50’s party with poodle skirts and
old-fashioned coke in glass bottles.
How I loved my
parent’s master bedroom where I would sleep on the floor next to them when I
was sick or had a nightmare and my mom’s private bath and vanity where I would have
my wet hair rolled up in sponge rollers before bed.
I will
always treasure your green leaf print wallpaper in the cozy kitchen where I sat
at the eat-in breakfast bar enjoying my oatmeal each morning before school.
Oh the
memories of my first 12 years of life….so many were formed within your walls
and yards, good and bad, happy and sad, all these emotions are wrapped up in
the home of my childhood, the rooms of 213 Westmoreland Street.
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