Room With a View

Today's assignment is to write about a place that is special to me. Someplace we'd like to be transported to. What came to mind for me was the little house where I lived during the earliest years of my life. It was a little two bedroom house in Pico Rivera, California that my folks bought in 1951 for $8000 (Oh that we could do that today) I call it my happy place because I have such good memories of it buried deep in my heart. It was brand new to them. I have pictures of my parents holding me in the the unfinished frame. My mother decorated in the popular Early American style and planted geraniums and rose bushes in the front yard. My father groomed a yard, built a covered patio, put up a swing set, and built a corner hutch in our dining room. Soon there was a brother and then another. All three of us kids were squished together into one little bedroom. A trundle bed held me and the oldest of my two brothers, and my little brother's crib was at the end. With all the crowding in that little house, I would still go back there in a second. I remember it so fondly unlike the memories after that.

I remember when we bought our house in Bakersfield. There was wallpaper everywhere. Our first chore was to take down the paper in Megan's new room that hosted clouds and airplanes. Once that was done we began work on the wallpaper in the kitchen. Turns out there were four layers each on top of the other. The third layer down was some pretty hideous green stuff, but it gave me such a wonderful feeling that if I could have done it, I would have left it up. I never understood why it made me feel so comfortable and happy until going through some old pictures and there it was. It was the same wallpaper that covered the walls of the dining room that was open to the kitchen in that house where we spent so much time. We ate, did homework, and generally gathered there. It was the hub of our home. We also had a wonderful kid filled neighborhood where we made lots of friends. I still remember my best friend Peggy Sue Murr whose yard backed on to mine. We weren't tall enough to see over the fence, but we would sit and chat through knot holes. Strangely, 3 other yards backed on to our own as well. One was kind of the trouble maker of the neighborhood. One was the big long yard which was the home of Robby Worby who was about my age and his little brother. There was a gate in the chain link fence between our two yards. The last house that backed on to ours also had a gate in between. There lived a childless couple named Bill and Ann Clarke. Anne became my mother's dearest friend. They became family to us and to me were always Uncle Bill and Aunt Ann. She was our babysitter while my mother went to work. Sadly, as we got older, all three of us was more than she could handle, so she took the two boys and I was switched to a lady named Betty who lived across the street. I learned a lot of the very old songs I knew by listening to her play them over and over on her record player. "How Much Is That Doggie in the Window" and "Surrey With the Fringe on Top"---That kind of thing.
In the middle of grade school my parents decided they needed to have another bedroom for their growing daughter. One choice was to build a new garage to the left of the existing one and turn that one into a new bedroom, the second was to move all together. They chose to move and that was that. I've always wished they'd done it differently, but who knows how that would've turned out. 
I've looked it up online and was amazed to see that it is still only that same two bedrooms and one bathroom. It last sold in 1994 for $145,000, but is worth over twice as much now. Guess I won't be snapping that up for old times sake. I've included a picture here. There was a much better one, but the darn thing wouldn't let me save it. I tried.
Well, there you have it---Some of the happy memories of the special place I would love to be transported back to. Every time I'm in the area I drive by and take a peek, and I'm tempted every time to march up to the door and beg to look inside. In my heart, it's still mine. I always think that if I head that way again, I may write them a letter before I go. Easy to do since I have never forgotten the address. 8315 Birchleaf Avenue holds a special place in my heart.