A Book And Memories For You

Speaking of humor...

If you appreciate funny, when-I-was-a-kid memoirs, you'll most likely enjoy this free kindle book:

Misadventures of a 1970's Childhood by Tom Purcell

As I click from page to page, it's as though, first, I'm reading about my own 1970's childhood, then I'm switching over to the childhood we provided for Naomi. My days as a child, then hers, mine, then hers ...

I guess it's because the author grew up in Pennsylvania, a state close to ours, not only real-estate-wise, but old-fashioned attitude and house-wise, as well. My own California childhood proved mostly pleasant, but scattered in too many towns and bringing Naomi back East for hers, in a way, made her middle and high school years more stable and even more old-timey than mine. I'm glad Tom and I could give her some of what we wished we'd had when young.

So while reading this book, our childhoods all become blended in an odd way. Hmm.

Anyway. Some of you will really enjoy this book.

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One thing our farm taught me was that when you have a concrete patio (or driveway as was the case today), you can, in a cold month like March, sit on said concrete and still feel very warm on a sunny, 38 degree day. The reflection of sunlight upon the concrete (and a light-colored wall behind you) increases the heat exponentially, making one warm even while she's sitting there surrounded by piles of snow.

Which is what I did today in perfect warmth and contentment with only my slacks and the usual two layers of sweater tops. 

Well, except when I stared at the grey house across the street, the one outside our dining room windows, which stood empty all winter. It's hard to shake the sadness of an empty house, really, and I especially miss the morning lights inside. I appreciate the camaraderie they silently extend to me on black winter mornings as I help Tom ready himself for work and that was a major thing which made me shiver out at the farm--the dead blackness outside our kitchen window which faced the back meadow. No friendly, warm-lit windows existed out there. Just an eerie winter black void which--somehow--taunted me.

(The amazing Betty MacDonald wrote about that very thing unnerving her, also, so I feel in good company ... and not looney-tunes.)

Back in December, one extremely sweet-looking family visited the grey house with a realtor, but they walked through that 4-bedroom, 2 bath, full-basement place in six minutes, flat. Being a genius about such things--I knew that was not a good sign. Obviously, all these months later, I was right. heh.

So the big grey house remains empty, yet still I pray for just the right family to fill it up with happy times which they'll look back upon and remember. And warm, golden windows that will make me smile on frigid, black mornings over here.

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