aka: Amy's Rambling again, Mom
(Settle back, this is going to be a long one)When I was around 6-8 years old, I asked for a club/play house for Christmas. My older brother, Joseph, kindly accommodated that request and created the framework of a house. I can only remember it as framed, which makes me think it never got completely finished. Funny thing, I was quite happy with what I had. I remember makeshift walls and ceiling from blankets and odds and ends of plywood. I remember make believe adventures with brothers and sisters. Mostly, I remember I had my very own clubhouse.
In another place we lived, my play house tendencies continued and my sisters, brother and I would use the old camper shell. I remember cleaning it out and trying to nail discarded molding to the counter edges that were rough. Oh, the slivers that camper gave.
I remember the house in Moroni, Utah. The three of us girls shared a room on the top floor. At that time I really wanted a cedar chest. I believed any self respecting bedroom had to have a cedar chest at the foot of the bed. Since I didn't have one, I improvised with boxes and a blanket to cover them. Christmas that year brought me a cedar chest.
I remember the apartment in Salt Lake City that I shared with Danyelle and Christy, my first college roommates. It was rectangular shaped. The front door opened into the front room. It was huge with one wall of windows that opened on to a wonderful view of the brick building next door. From the front room a hall ran the full length of the apartment with closets lining one side and doors opening up to the kitchen and the bathroom, finally ending at the bedroom. Late one night, the phone was ringing in the front room. I had been sleeping and wasn't fully awake as I walked down the hall to answer it. I can remember bouncing off the walls as I sleepily zigzagged to the phone. The caller was a bit taken back when they were greeted with "This had better be good" rather then "Hello". Our bathroom was green and white. I want to say a lime green or something similar, and I loved it. It was different. The light switch was in the hallway. Boy that was fun! With 3 girls and one bedroom, my closet was two of the ones in the hallway. When the doors were open, it would take up the full width of the hall. Even when there were only two of us, I still kept my closets in the hallway. When we first moved in, I slept on the couch in the front room, and quickly realized I got the better deal. You see it was summer and our only cooling system was a swamp cooler located in the front room. While I slept comfortably the other two baked.... that is until one of them couldn't take it any longer and would crank the thing to its full force, then I would freeze.
Then there was Cell Block 5: That is what I called my dorm room I had during the semester I spent out in Virginia. Right before I left I found they had cancelled all my arrangements including my housing. After straighting out that mess, they gave me what was left. One of the rooms in the basement that had never been used except to hold storage. As I opened the door to Room 5, the place I would call home for the next 4 months, I was greeted with dust and dirt and darkness and the smell of hastily painted walls. Across from the door was my one window: multi-paned and it showed an overgrown window well with grating covering the top of it. "Welcome to Cell Block 5 was my first thought. All the furniture was stacked in the center of the room. It took most of a Saturday scrubbing everything with hot soapy water, and then arranging the furniture, before I felt I could safely rest there. After a couple of nights, I bought myself two items that were absolutely necessary, if I was to remain there, a small fan that sat on the chair and cooled me off (no cooling system and we are talking East Coast humidity in the middle of August). The second item was a plastic bed covering, cause friends, I was not alone in that bed. To think all this time I thought "Don't let the bed bugs bite" was just a funny saying. With all that I grew to love that room. Every morning I would wake up and look from my pillow at my "tree" in the window well. The dew would glisten off the leaves and I would fill peace and excitement for the new day. It was a sad moment (and I felt personally violated) when I came back from class one day and found the grounds keeper had completely cleaned the window well. Nothing was left but freshly turned dirt. It resembled a cell block even more with just the cinder blocks to look at. I thought about planting flowers but didn't want to risk the grounds keeper's ire.
Now if you've read the last post, you already know about my shed. I've just got quirky tastes and I love them. What's next, you might ask. I don't know, but lately I have started saving the last pages of the "This Old House" Magazine. It's where they advertise an old house with lots of history and character that needs someone to renovate it and return it to it's former glory. Between the picture and the $1.00 price tag, I can't help imagining...... So who knows, in a few years one of them could be mine, unless of course a lighthouse comes up for sale.
