Home... A Snapshot in Time
Prologue
My childhood home is the place that I have chosen for my Twitterive. I lived in this house from the age of five in 1970, until I was 18 in 1983. For me, this “snapshot in time” represents my whole childhood and the person who I’ve turned out to be. The connection I have to my childhood home is felt on a daily basis. I didn’t get to leave on my own terms. The decision to leave was made by my father following my mother’s suicide. Dad sold the house, and we moved away, with Dad never looking back. However, for my brother and I, we continue to look back constantly, reliving and talking about the times spent here. For us, this house will always be “Home”. It’s still my safe haven. It wasn’t all bad, there were many a good time here as you will see. But somehow in my younger mind, the bad far outweighed the good and I couldn’t wait to leave. But, it’s true what they say how one doesn’t appreciate what they have until it’s gone. For me that statement couldn’t ring truer. For years on end I longed to leave that ugly olive green house on the dead end street of our neighborhood. To be rid of the dysfunction, denial, and embarrassment was all I could hope for one day. Be careful what you wish for. God works in mysterious way. Ironically, today, I would pay a king’s ransom to go back there and live again.
What I realized over the years since moving away is that this house and its sense of “Home,” is what forever connects me to my past, present, and future. For it’s the experiences, memories, and traditions I’ve had in this house, both good and bad, that’s shaped me into the sentimental person I am today. This house built me. The past sense of “being home” is what resonates within me, where I’ve diligently tried to recreate the fun times and home environment over and over again for myself today and for my children’s tomorrows.
What I realized over the years since moving away is that this house and its sense of “Home,” is what forever connects me to my past, present, and future. For it’s the experiences, memories, and traditions I’ve had in this house, both good and bad, that’s shaped me into the sentimental person I am today. This house built me. The past sense of “being home” is what resonates within me, where I’ve diligently tried to recreate the fun times and home environment over and over again for myself today and for my children’s tomorrows.
"Memories of 4th of July parties. It was Mom's favorite holiday; it's now Liz's too.
Pool, hot dogs, sparklers, and family. The way it should be."
1 permanent solution to a temporary problem caused me to leave my childhood home forever
0 regrets as I look back
3 stray animals lived in our house
Hot days of summer were spent in the backyard pool
Our house was where all the neighborhood kids came to hang out
My sense of Self was created here
Enjoying my Twitterive experience
Remembering, reliving, rejoycing
My Brother Robert
My Twitterive about my childhood home wouldn't be complete without mentioning my younger brother Robert. Together, we lived and breathed in that old olive green house. Our rooms were next to each other. We sat next to each other at the dinner table. We even had the same friends in the neighborhood. We shared many of the same experiences, memories, and traditions. In a way, our childhood home built him too. The poem below pays tribute to my brother, my hero, my friend.
"My Brother Is My Best Friend"
I remember
waking up early on Saturday mornings
watching cartoons and building forts with you out of cushions
we’d eat cereal
while Mom and Dad slept.
I remember
stray animals following you home from school
anything and everyone loving you
your impish grin; how that kept you out of trouble
you still charm people to this day.
I remember
your zest for life and your passion for fun
playing outside with your friends, riding bikes
how you’d stay out till the streetlights came on
how I’d call your name to come home.
I remember
sleepless nights filled with tension
where we’d talk through our connecting bedroom wall
a secret language we had through knocking
as Mom and Dad argued.
I remember
when you and Harry set the field on fire
and me telling on you
Mom lit a whole pack of matches in your face
a lesson was learned.
I remember
weekends spent in wildwood, the salty sea air
playing monopoly and war well past our bedtime
going to the beach all day and the boardwalk at night
fun times were had with family.
I remember
how a piece of you also died that fateful night
at sixteen, a momma’s boy you were
Little Boy Blue became Little Boy Lost
would you, could you survive?
I remember
feeling scared to death when you joined the army
so young you were at nineteen
would you come home alive
you’re my hero.
I remember
hearing the death sentence of your incurable illness
have we really come this far only to lose you once again
you gave up, then chose life at death’s door
you wanted to live again.
I remember
listening to the laughter
of our children as they play together
as we sit and recall the good times
a family’s love lasts forever.
I remember
starting out protecting you
but somehow, someway
the tides have changed
for it is I who now look to you for comfort and advice.
I remember everything…
the good,
the bad,
but most of all, the LOVE!
waking up early on Saturday mornings
watching cartoons and building forts with you out of cushions
we’d eat cereal
while Mom and Dad slept.
I remember
stray animals following you home from school
anything and everyone loving you
your impish grin; how that kept you out of trouble
you still charm people to this day.
I remember
your zest for life and your passion for fun
playing outside with your friends, riding bikes
how you’d stay out till the streetlights came on
how I’d call your name to come home.
I remember
sleepless nights filled with tension
where we’d talk through our connecting bedroom wall
a secret language we had through knocking
as Mom and Dad argued.
I remember
when you and Harry set the field on fire
and me telling on you
Mom lit a whole pack of matches in your face
a lesson was learned.
I remember
weekends spent in wildwood, the salty sea air
playing monopoly and war well past our bedtime
going to the beach all day and the boardwalk at night
fun times were had with family.
I remember
how a piece of you also died that fateful night
at sixteen, a momma’s boy you were
Little Boy Blue became Little Boy Lost
would you, could you survive?
I remember
feeling scared to death when you joined the army
so young you were at nineteen
would you come home alive
you’re my hero.
I remember
hearing the death sentence of your incurable illness
have we really come this far only to lose you once again
you gave up, then chose life at death’s door
you wanted to live again.
I remember
listening to the laughter
of our children as they play together
as we sit and recall the good times
a family’s love lasts forever.
I remember
starting out protecting you
but somehow, someway
the tides have changed
for it is I who now look to you for comfort and advice.
I remember everything…
the good,
the bad,
but most of all, the LOVE!
"Christmas will be here before we know it"
Christmastime at our house is always busy, yet fun filled. Often times it snows around Christmas, making everything look like a winter wonderland. Our house looks so pretty during the Christmas holiday! Outside, in true traditional 70's fashion, Dad hangs strings of alternating red and green lights, outlining the house. My sentimental favorite is the four color Roto-Wheel light Dad bought from Sears that is placed in the front yard facing the house. When turned on, the color wheel slowly rotates, basking the house in colors of red, gold, green, and blue. The house looks so luminous against the dark wintry night sky. All the neighborhood houses look so Christmasy at night. Inside, the house looks just as spectacular. Christmas decorations can be found just about everywhere. The black metal railings along the steps are strung with plastic holly garland and multicolored twinkle lights. Nativity scenes, poinsettias, ceramic Christmas figurines and trees are found on various end tables. I even have a three foot plastic red and yellow candle in my room. Yes, it is difficult to go to sleep at night, but I don't care!
Every year my parents take my brother and I into Philadelphia to see Santa at Strawbridge's and The Enchanted Colonial Village at Lit Brothers. It's such a magical time for us and an all day event. We get up early and take the train into the city. "8th and Market," is heard over the train's intercom as we stream through the long dark tunnel under the city streets. I reach the top of the stairs, just standing there, taking everything in all at once. The sights and sounds of the city are spectacular this time of year! The winter air is crisp, Christmas lights adorn buildings, and department store windows are decorated and filled with the latest toys. I look forward to this visit even as I got older.
The best part of Christmas for me though, is not the trip to the city or the presents. My favorite part of Christmas is my stocking. We open our stockings up first before moving on the presents under the tree. My Mom is very creative and makes the best Christmas stockings ever! She makes the stocking fit the person's personality. My stocking will be filled with the standard orange at the bottom, but I'll also get jewelry, gum, and other cool trinkets. When I finish opening my stocking, I make sure to painstakingly put everything back exactly how I saw it for the first time.
I have since held up this tradition for my own children. In fact, my daughter says her stocking is the best part of Christmas for her as well. Like my Mom, I also fill the stockings to fit the kids' interests, updating them a bit with lottery tickets, gift cards, and other things they enjoy. My daughter says she wants to recreate the special stocking stuffers with her own children one day. I guess this was my own way to keep a little piece of my old house traditions and my old life with me during the holidays.
Every year my parents take my brother and I into Philadelphia to see Santa at Strawbridge's and The Enchanted Colonial Village at Lit Brothers. It's such a magical time for us and an all day event. We get up early and take the train into the city. "8th and Market," is heard over the train's intercom as we stream through the long dark tunnel under the city streets. I reach the top of the stairs, just standing there, taking everything in all at once. The sights and sounds of the city are spectacular this time of year! The winter air is crisp, Christmas lights adorn buildings, and department store windows are decorated and filled with the latest toys. I look forward to this visit even as I got older.
The best part of Christmas for me though, is not the trip to the city or the presents. My favorite part of Christmas is my stocking. We open our stockings up first before moving on the presents under the tree. My Mom is very creative and makes the best Christmas stockings ever! She makes the stocking fit the person's personality. My stocking will be filled with the standard orange at the bottom, but I'll also get jewelry, gum, and other cool trinkets. When I finish opening my stocking, I make sure to painstakingly put everything back exactly how I saw it for the first time.
I have since held up this tradition for my own children. In fact, my daughter says her stocking is the best part of Christmas for her as well. Like my Mom, I also fill the stockings to fit the kids' interests, updating them a bit with lottery tickets, gift cards, and other things they enjoy. My daughter says she wants to recreate the special stocking stuffers with her own children one day. I guess this was my own way to keep a little piece of my old house traditions and my old life with me during the holidays.
* * * * * * *
"Today's lunch while I work on my Twitterive"
In my childhood home, our 1970's kitchen remained the same until the 1980's. Time definitely stood still in our kitchen with the gold counter tops, stove, dishwasher, and sink. Even our rotary phone with the long cord was gold. Somehow the fridge escaped. It was white. Macrame curtains adorned with wooden beads on them, hung over the kitchen window which was over the kitchen sink. Even the counter tops represented the late 70's with my Mom's rust and gold ceramic mushroom canisters along the back wall. I don't think one could get more 70's than our kitchen.
However, even though not much ever changed in this kitchen, one thing constantly did. This was the place where Mom created the most delicious and innovative lunches for me and my dad. Most of the time I bought lunch because my mom didn't really enjoy cooking, and it was easier for her to just fork out the forty cents. I think that's why it felt so special for me when I packed. Most of my friends brought peanut butter and jelly, or ham and cheese. I didn't like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches then and still don't to this day. Mom would give me bologna and cheese, but put lettuce in there as an added bonus, or I'd have liverwurst or lunch-roll like my dad. They would be wrapped in wax paper, where Mom always wrote some kind of loving message like "Hi Maggie" or "I love you" on the wrapper as a surprise. They were hugs on paper! No one else had these messages in their lunches. I felt special! There would also be some kind of Tastykake treat, Wise chips, or Jax cheese curls.
Like with the Christmas stocking, I carry on this tradition of awesome lunches for my kids today. My daughter's friends would often say to her in school, "Liz, what did your Mom make you today? or "Your Mom makes the coolest lunches." My sons friends say the same thing. I even continue to write the special messages to them both, sending love or some kind of praise, tucked away to be found later. It makes them smile as it did me way back when.
However, even though not much ever changed in this kitchen, one thing constantly did. This was the place where Mom created the most delicious and innovative lunches for me and my dad. Most of the time I bought lunch because my mom didn't really enjoy cooking, and it was easier for her to just fork out the forty cents. I think that's why it felt so special for me when I packed. Most of my friends brought peanut butter and jelly, or ham and cheese. I didn't like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches then and still don't to this day. Mom would give me bologna and cheese, but put lettuce in there as an added bonus, or I'd have liverwurst or lunch-roll like my dad. They would be wrapped in wax paper, where Mom always wrote some kind of loving message like "Hi Maggie" or "I love you" on the wrapper as a surprise. They were hugs on paper! No one else had these messages in their lunches. I felt special! There would also be some kind of Tastykake treat, Wise chips, or Jax cheese curls.
Like with the Christmas stocking, I carry on this tradition of awesome lunches for my kids today. My daughter's friends would often say to her in school, "Liz, what did your Mom make you today? or "Your Mom makes the coolest lunches." My sons friends say the same thing. I even continue to write the special messages to them both, sending love or some kind of praise, tucked away to be found later. It makes them smile as it did me way back when.
HOME
Home is a four letter word, that when spoken, is supposed to conjure up old memories of Christmas past; where hopes and dreams have their inceptions; where home is where the heart is. For me, home was arguments well into the night, late night trips to buy cigarettes, only never to come back home, and listening to Carol King’s “It’s Too Late” on the radio as my mother drove my brother and me around from bar to bar looking for our father; it was anything but warm and fuzzy in our home. After years of depression, dysfunction, and desolation, my mother burned that house down in a blaze of glory; taking with her a lifetime of broken dreams and promises. The home, now tattered and charred, lonely and scarred, could have a fresh start and begin again, awaiting a new family with welcomed arms; for in that moment I knew in my heart of hearts, that my life had changed forever.
"When one door closes another one opens"
The pictures below represent my present and future in my current home. My present is represented through the new experiences, memories, and traditions I've created since moving into my current house. My future is represented through my children and their eyes. It is my greatest hope that my children's current home will be the house that builds them, just as my childhood home built me. Home...it's a wonderful four letter word after all.
"I am the house that built me :)"
Tweets that inspired my Twitterive
Today's lunch while I work on my #twitterive Christmas in NYC 2009, Christmas will be here before we know it, I'm grateful for everything, I am the house that built me :),My brother is my best friend, Every new beginning is some beginning's end, Today time stood still; green house, azalea bushes; I saw me at eight.haiku, See ya next time Homer Avenue, Leaving now, although somehow I believe I will always remain here. This place is "Home" for me xoxo, Who says u can't go home again. :), It was the best of times... It was the worst of times., Memories of 4th of July parties. My Mom's fav holiday. Pool, hotdogs,sparklers, and family; the way it should be., Our mailbox used to be 1st base in kickball, Walking back in time., I feel like I'm in a movie, The view down my old street. My aunt lives @ the end. The trees r so big now!, The house I grew up in in Voorhees. Suddenly I feel so small., Going home again, I'm in a sweat. Not sure if it's from the heat or from opening myself up for all 2 see, revealing my true feelings., I keep a piece of you with me forever., My heart grows two sizes like the Grinch's when I'm here. I am filled with overwhelming love.,Life is filled with many crossroads, I have an important date today with someone special, These two hold my heart. Times r funnier when we're together., A family's love is the theme at tonight's dinner. It's nice to have dinner all together in this busy world., It's nice 2 know that my whole future will be riding on this 2hr test tomorrow . No pressure!, I feel like I'm 5 again in 1970., I wish time could've stood still, When one door closes another one opens.,
