I’m breaking from the mystery theme of the month today but this was on my mind.
A few days ago, I received a phone call from my brother. The conversation began with something like this:
“I know it was around this time of year…”
He didn’t have to finish the sentence for me to know what he was talking about. “Oh my gosh! It’s been sixty years! Can you believe it? Wasn’t the fiftieth anniversary just yesterday?”
“Seems like it. On the fortieth anniversary, I mentioned it to my students, and they said I must be really old.”
Okay, I’m telling my age here, but it was sixty years ago yesterday, October 9, 1959, when our family left the Dallas area to move to East Texas. I was too young to remember living in the metroplex, nor do I remember the move. But I do have some fond memories of our first home in this area.
My parents purchased property with the intention of building. In the meantime, they rented an old farmhouse. The outside probably never saw a coat of paint. It had only three rooms, but they were large—the living room held both an entire bedroom set, plus a sofa, chairs, television and coffee table.
The old house where we once lived was near this building. I recall playing beneath those cedar trees.
I can’t recall a single Christmas in that house, but I do remember our parakeet, Buddy, and our dog, Prince. I remember the day we moved from there to our new home across the road. I was confused because we slept the first night in the new house and had breakfast in the old one.
The property remains in the family. My husband and I live in the family home, and my brother has a cabin nearby. As you can imagine, we have lots of memories—both good and bad. But they are mostly good. Family visits and reunions, laughter, music.
As a child, I combed through the nearby woods, pretending I was on a make-believe journey. I “acted out” my favorite stories and dreamed of creating my own. I knew I wanted to be a writer at age ten.
Four generations of our family have lived in my house throughout the years. On Saturday night, my brother, his daughter, and great-granddaughter visited. Although she doesn’t live with me, Harper makes the fifth generation. Amazing!
Thanks for putting up with my reminiscing today. I turn to the Beatles again for this week’s video. You can rest assured this tune has been played countless times in this house throughout the years.
17 Responses
Five generations is fantastic. Your playing in the woods sounds like so much fun. Thanks for sharing your reminiscences with us, Joan 🙂
Lots of fun! We had almost 40 acres for me to roam through. 🙂
What a green, lush area. Thanks for sharing your memories.:-)
Thanks for listening! We do live in a pretty part of the state.
Those are wonderful memories, Joan. I love that the house has stayed in your family through so many generations. And the picture you shared is gorgeous! What a great place to play and roam as a child. I’m sure you conjured many stories beneath those trees!
Yeah. Lots of good memories.
My grandmother’s house in Utah was that way. She inherited it from her father, and I think one of my cousins still lives there today. These are great memories. Thanks for sharing them.
Some times it’s good to reminisce.
Great memories, Joan… Time flies, doesn’t it?
Too fast!
This is wonderful, Joan. I have lived in more than 21 houses in my lifetime so could never hope to achieve anything like this.
I think I’ve lived in five. A couple of those were apartments.
What incredible memories, Joan! I envy people who have lived in the same area they grew up in. I left Hobbs, New Mexico when I was 18 and never looked back. My parents soon moved to East Texas and there was never a reason to go back. I have lived in seven different cities in my lifetime. I guess for an old lady that isn’t too bad. 🙂 Thank you for sharing!
I have friends who lived in Hobbs for several years. I love New Mexico!
I love that you have generations of memories in your home. It warms my heart. Thanks for sharing, Joan.
Thanks, Staci! It’s pretty special to live here.
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