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the sky is light to the west of town

NP: Bruce Hornsby - "The Way It Is"

I could listen to the man play piano forever. His style is so captivating, despite the fact that it's not terribly flashy.

Erin's still asleep, I'm laying here in the computer room, with the blinds on the window half pulled up so the cats can jump up and look out. The cats are being particularly bad this morning, I'm not sure why, but they keep bothering each other and egging each other on. I'd let them go, but for one thing they're extremely loud when they yowl and hiss, plus, I don't want Corona roughousing too much, considering she still has stitches in from her surgery. So yeah, I've been playing the role of kitty mediator so far this morning...

It's cloudy this morning, which is a welcome reprieve from the heat and glare of summer. It was actually raining a while ago...I could just roll over and look out the window and see it coming down. I got up, went over to the window, and watched it come down. I watched the water form little beads on the top of cars, I watched it trickle down the hill. Sunday mornings are supposed to be like this.

My Grandma and Grandpa are celebrating their 50th anniversary next weekend. They also recently moved out of the house they lived in for the past 50 years. As a surpise gift for the anniversary, all of their children and grandchildren are contributing photos and memories for a scrapbook of sorts about the old house. This morning, after weeks of putting it off, I felt creative enough to do what I wanted to do, to do it all justice. This is what I came up with:

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I'll always remember the house at 3801 North Park Drive. I'll remember the approach to the neighborhood, with the street name etched onto those big red brick and concrete pillars. I'll remember Banana Island...playing out there on the little bend in the street, pretending to be in charge of my own private Pacific island. I remember the ancient doorbell...not electronic, but a black metal button that, when pressed, rang an actual metal bell. It wasn't very loud, and I always wondered if Grandma & Grandpa heard us at the door. Somehow they always did. I'll remember childhood visits...afternoons spent with Grandma while my mom was out running errands or just needed some time off. I remember the big, silver radio boombox that sat on top of the refrigerator, along with that ancient 5" black and white portable TV. I remember coloring books, sandwiches made any way we wanted them, sitting at the kitchen island bar eating cookies (from that tan cookie jar with the various ceramic cookie shapes all over it) and milk, and building garish skyscrapers from the big box of heavy, black blocks. I also remember Uncle Rick coming by and playing "Godzilla", knocking over a day's construction with one fell swoop. I remember metal coasters holding cold cans of Dr. Pepper, sitting on the family room table next to copies of National Geographic. I remember playing Scrabble and Upwords with Grandpa.

I remember the backyard, how it always felt like a garden or secret escape...in the middle of summer, the trees formed a sort of canopy over everything. I remember the old wooden gate from the driveway to the backyard...how the walkway was formed from concrete blocks that looked like they'd been there forever. I remember the garage, with Grandpa's workbench, with countless boxes that could've contained absolutely anything. I remember the big deep freezer, which always had ice cream of some sort in it. I remember the door that led from the garage to the backyard, how on the inside it was covered with things...Red Cross stickers and pins, Grandpa's old high school letter, a cigar box from the birth of Uncle Mike, and always, a calendar from the current year.

I remember holidays...Thanksgiving filled with more good food than I think I could ever hope to see in one place anywhere else. Turkey, stuffing, gravy, green beans...and of course, the characteristic plate of cold cuts, cheese, olives, and pickles. Not to mention that funky dessert tray thing -- three or four tiered, full of cookies and cake type stuff. I remember sitting in the family room eating Thanksgiving dinner off of a TV tray, watching football and talking with cousins. Christmas Eve at the house was magical. The fact that everyone, even Californians, was home and together, made it special. The house seemed to radiate extra warmth on those nights...the tree covered in tinsel, lights, and 30 to 50 years worth of ornaments and keepsakes. Another feast on Thanksgiving scale. Grandpa passing around the oplatek, giving a blessing, kissing Grandma, and passing a chunk of the wafer to the next person. I remember opening gifts, everyone gathered in the family room together.

I remember music. Grandpa's opera or classical, always playing. I remember big speakers and a stereo system I was always envious of. I remember sitting around on the couch listening to stories of travels or growing up. I Grandma and Grandpa reading both the Belleville News-Democrat and St. Louis Post-Dispact on Sunday mornings, making a day of it. I always admired that dedication to a day of total relaxation. I remember coffee cups sitting on the top of the cabinets in the dining room. I remember the seemingly perilous climb up the stairs to the upstairs rooms over the garage. I remember going for walks with Grandpa down to Bellvue Park, playing on the rocket ship slide, walking around the pond, feeding ducks and skipping stones. I remember playing on the stage of the band shell, pretending I was somebody important.

I remember Muffin sunning herself on a windowsill, or next to the door out to the patio. I remember the wall full of pencil sketches of far away cities, bookshelves always filled to the brim with family photos and books that I wanted to read. I remember staying with Grandma and Grandpa for the weekend when my mom and dad would go out of town for a vacation. I remember sleeping upstairs in Uncle Rick's old room, in the bed with the comforter that I always thought felt strange. I remember exploring interesting wall decorations and things left behind, like it was the room of an older brother I didn't actually have. I remember Grandpa's study, with the green "accountant-style" lamp on the desk. I remember looking out the little window in that room, peering down at the cars in the driveway and the street and other houses below. I remember Grandma's sewing room, filled with pictures of Europe and family, sewing machine on the table near the door. I remember hot summers with the attic fan on and Grandpa's refusal to put the air on. I remember coming over in the middle of winter, finding Grandpa wearing a coat or big sweater indoors, and Grandma just insisting that he turn the heat up, it'd be simpler.

Most of all, I remember a house that felt like a second home. I remember how inviting it always felt...I'm certain that the majority of that feeling can be attributed to the two fantastic people who lived there. Fifty years is a long time, a long time to do anything. Though I was only around for twenty two of those fifty, it still feels like I came away with a lifetime's worth of memories. There's probably about a million more stored away up in my brain that I forgot to mention here.

Thank you Grandma and Grandpa, thank you for that house, that feeling, and most especially, thank you for your love, warmth, hospitality, and help. Happy 50th anniversary, and may you have 50 more in your new house.

--Mike

then / now