passion...schmassion

Day 10007: 109 Three Valleys Drive

You put in a pool, and an ugly green awning. There's a garage now rather than the carport that used to be there. That's where I used to play on summer rainy days "tuning" my bicycles with my daddy's tools for the sunny days, scraping off the icky spider cocoons with the twigs I'd pull off the neighbour's trees. The carport on whose roof I snuck onto once... and only once...

The rows of hedges in the back are gone - the hedges I watched grow from waist high to shoulder high before we moved away; the hedges where I buried my first pets - earthworms, caterpillars... you all went to heaven because I accidentally killed you. My old orange rusty swingset ripped up and in all likelihood rusting away in some landfill somewhere. I never felt safe on that swing anyway. Oh, but I loved it's rickety-ness. I'd stand on the swing, and monkeybar my way across the top, orange streaks of rust from the swing chains staining my hands. I tried to walk across it once, like the tightrope walkers in the circus. But someone caught me and I got in trouble. Tetnus, schmetnus be damned... bah... who cared when you were six.

I swear, I'm not stalking you. I used to live here.

Random tiger lilies poked through one neighbour's fence. We shared some raspberry bushes. I would stand there on hot summer days, gorging myself on freshly picked giant red raspberries. Until the time I bit down on one with the icky bitter tasting green bug. The raspberries weren't so sweet any more after that. So I moved onto the smaller, purple berries instead...

The smokey smell of summertime barbecues. Giant slices of watermelon in hand, spitting seeds with the boys across the street. Laughing insanely at the first time I saw someone eat a watermelon rind. I remember telling on him. I was a tattletale then. Slow, sweet jazz melodies floating through the haze of the charcoal bbq. The scent of lilacs providing a backdrop to the acrid odor of burnt chicken wings and hot dogs. Chicken wings were cheap back then. I think they might even have been free... we ate them a lot.

Vanilla ice cream cones with marachino cherries. Dripping through our fingertips. We were messy ice cream eaters, so we stood on the steps until we were done. It was always a tradeoff... eat ice cream outside, or be with all the happy people inside... peering in through the screen, an adult popping a head out every so often asking if we were done. Slapping away at the wasps and mosquitos that always came out when the sun was going down.

A tire swing set up in the old oak tree. It didn't bode well when I tried to climb the rope instead of swing on the swing. Apparently the parental units didn't like it that I never used something for what it was intended to be used for. I also walked up the stairs on the wrong side of the rail and climbed over the rail when I got to the top. They didn't like that either. Wonder how they'd like it if they found out that we used to jump off the tall flight of basement stairs with only a couple of giant pillows on the bottom to cushion our falls. I wonder how they'd like it if they found out that I pushed my sister off the stairs one time. Oops. Wonder how they'd like it if they found out that I almost bungied off my balconey at the new house... someone stopped me... forget who though. I still have the rope in my car somewhere... it must be twenty years old at least.

I used to think that the backyard was as big as a soccer field. Walked my bunny back and forth on a leash before it died from "unnatural causes", all the while avoiding the big sheepdog in the back that I called Mr. Muggs. I never knew his real name. Only that he barked a lot and reminded me of the character in those Dick and Jane, learn-to-read books...

"Cross country" skiied on my red plastic tie-on skis, giant snowmen six feet tall, ramps made out of snow... man, I miss that house...