Author's Note: I wrote this in February 2022 as a reflection on the house in which the bulk of my growing up happened; for additional context and updates, see the Postscript at the end of the piece.
I am so happy that your parents have found their own footing. I pray that the little people like their new family after your parents have moved. I remember the sounds and (blank sounds) of the little people from many different homes that my family has borrowed from the little people. My mother hated the little people so it's a good thing he (it) waited. 1 in particular at our home on Percival Street where we spent the majority of our journey (1968-1983) before dad passed. Late one evening while my father & I were enjoying Johnny Carson I looked at my mother's chair and this little person no bigger than an orange was sitting and watching TV with us. This little person would come out every evening for all of the years we lived there and would watch TV with my father and I from 9:30 at night until we shut the TV off and then he would retire to the basement (I guess). This little person would even enjoy popcorn or potato chips with us. When we moved to the new house I remember wondering if he (it) would come out that evening and look for us and the chair and the TV. I will never know.
I *also* wonder how they are doing with the new owners... I have *some* idea, actually, but I'll have to save that for offline out of respect for their privacy ;-)
Bron and I lived in an old farm house with limited heating in Illinois. After dinner we would get in bed to stay warm and read. I swear at the stroke nine the mice in the walls would get very active, scratching and scrabbling. (The blood curdling screams came from the pasture outside. Is someone being eaten by a coyote? Owls? Rabbits in rut? Still haven’t a clue.
Oooooh I had no idea about your growing up... some day I'll have to get the story of how we ended up in the same place :-) Fascinating about the screams! Now *I'm* curious what they were...
I am so happy that your parents have found their own footing. I pray that the little people like their new family after your parents have moved. I remember the sounds and (blank sounds) of the little people from many different homes that my family has borrowed from the little people. My mother hated the little people so it's a good thing he (it) waited. 1 in particular at our home on Percival Street where we spent the majority of our journey (1968-1983) before dad passed. Late one evening while my father & I were enjoying Johnny Carson I looked at my mother's chair and this little person no bigger than an orange was sitting and watching TV with us. This little person would come out every evening for all of the years we lived there and would watch TV with my father and I from 9:30 at night until we shut the TV off and then he would retire to the basement (I guess). This little person would even enjoy popcorn or potato chips with us. When we moved to the new house I remember wondering if he (it) would come out that evening and look for us and the chair and the TV. I will never know.
I *also* wonder how they are doing with the new owners... I have *some* idea, actually, but I'll have to save that for offline out of respect for their privacy ;-)
Bron and I lived in an old farm house with limited heating in Illinois. After dinner we would get in bed to stay warm and read. I swear at the stroke nine the mice in the walls would get very active, scratching and scrabbling. (The blood curdling screams came from the pasture outside. Is someone being eaten by a coyote? Owls? Rabbits in rut? Still haven’t a clue.
Oooooh I had no idea about your growing up... some day I'll have to get the story of how we ended up in the same place :-) Fascinating about the screams! Now *I'm* curious what they were...