A childhood revisited...

My Childhood...

There are places on this earth where the aspen trees sound more welcoming then anywhere else on earth. Where the smells are better then cologne wafting off a well dressed man, and the comfort you feel is more relaxing then 10 days at the spa. I call it home...

Home... An environment offering security and happiness, a physical structure, a place built on a literal foundation of concrete. A home that one grew up in, and built memories within. This is my childhood home. 1821 Rossmoor Way Modesto, Ca 95355. A safe, quiet neighborhood, with large established Modesto Ash trees lining the streets, a place where kids on bikes police the parks, an 35 mile an hour winter winds give cause for concern of toppling trees.

Memories flood me as I look upon this place... Pictures of little girls in roller skates, banana seat bikes, dark blue doll strollers, and an 18 inch high kiddie pool... bring a smile to my face. A place where laying on a blanket on the front lawn was peaceful, safe, and relaxing...where the suns rays infiltrating our suburban backyard warmed the blossoms of the privet bushes and yellow honeysuckle vines which made for an intoxicating mixture that embedded itself in our newly laundered sheets that hung from the family clothesline. The metal yellow mini blinds from my childhood room, and the delicate crystal teardrop that shone mystical rainbows across the starch white walls. A time when the melody of a single silver flute, or a petite piccolo would wander down the hall and dance in the air from my older sister's room. A place where the darkened shadow of an unlit bathroom flowing into a hallway at night caused us to vault like little gymnasts from the Olympics in unfounded fear after a scary movie on our tiny remote less television set.Where the hallway corners had worn paint, and worn carpets. Where Mom made the best homemade chocolate chip cookies, and the lemonade was always made from frozen lemon cubes that were squeezed with love from the tree in the yard.A place where catching Dad asleep on the floor in front of the TV gave us dreams of becoming the next great Picasso and Dad being our victoriously unwilling canvas. Where slumber parties were best held in old heavy canvas army tents next to an open sliding glass patio door in the early days of summer, and where a garden was a mere experiment of water flow, fire pits, and entomology. A place where the best dog in the world was a rescued mutt from the local animal shelter and almond blossoms fell like snow across the well maintained backyard. Where a liquid amber tree was as tall as the stars in the sky, and a little girl could embrace her dreams. I was a dreamer, I always have been, always will be. My dreams are my moments of peace.To some home is the people that make you feel loved and cherished and special. The people who lift us up when we are down, and believe in us even when we give up on ourselves. The ones who see past our own put downs, and negative banter. Life's cheerleaders and earthly angels. Friends with and without bloodlines. Treasured strangers who cling tight to us in all weather. The ones with faithfully open doors, and hot dinner's at the end of crazy days. The listening ears who hear our tears, and feel our sorrows... and still make us laugh in spite of it all. To some home is the tiny pitter patter of little feet. Of children that cry in the night and need your love, attention, and compassion. Of offspring that look and act like us, and those that never could. To be parents and friends to both human and animal family members the same. To nurse them back to health when they are ill, and love them even when they break our hearts. The mixture of personalities, and passions, of beliefs, and convictions. The greatest of all god given gifts. The relationships and personalities that complete the family structure as a whole. To some home is the community, the town, the structures, and places of our youth. The trees that were great for climbing in. The fields that welcomed us to a game of hide and seek with our friends or our siblings. The frequent vacation spots nestled in the perfect spot. The lakes that left us blissfully freezing to death, and the way the sun kissed our skin with warmth. The museums that you knew like the back of your hand. For me that was Pinecrest Lake, Castle Air Museum, and Mickey's Grove Park. I love these places. It was fun to go home, to play, and relax... but I am just as joyous about coming back to the moment of adulthood, the decision making, and job duties of today. For today is the childhood of my children's youth. Today their memories are being formed, and I am a strong partner in it. Who they become is being shaped today by the people, places, and events unfolding in this era. I look forward to their trips home to me, and the wonderment of their own childhood's revisited.