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vanillafluffyThe house we lived in during my childhood was on an extra-wide lot with lots of green. There was a terrace behind the house, flower beds, a stretch of lawn, the back fence, with a little brook beyond it. A cobble-stone driveway to the right of the house led to a two car garage and on the far side of the drive was a spacious lawn with scattered trees and the summerhouse.
The summerhause played such a central role in our lives that I didn't realize until many years later how unique it was. A few years before I was born, the men of the house (Uncle Al, Uncle Frank and my dad) built it in the side yard.
The summerhouse was a slab of concrete, about 12 feet by 20, with a granite fireplace and chimney in the middle, framed with 4"x4" timbers and screened. Because these were handy guys, there were lights and electric plugs, a picnic table and benches. If it's still there---I can't imagine that anyone would tear it down---there are three random patches of cement among the chimney-stones with the last initials of the men who built it: S, P and O.
I know childhood wasn't perpetual summer, but I have many, many memories of the summerhouse, of barbecues and birthday parites and playing house with my friends. (Although it was not, I learned to my sorrow, safe to leave anything I treasured out there for fear it would be stolen or destroyed. Not all of our neighbors were good ones.)
Peter contributed some lanterns that had been props for something or other---he was a display artist for several years---and they hung in each corner, big colorful beacons when the parties went on into the late evenings. The screens kept the mosquitos out, and the grown-ups could sit and talk while I played with my Barbies or had my nose in a book.
The last time I was there was a winter visit when I was 25. I snuck out there to puff a joint. Hardly the innocent fun of my childhood....
.
The summerhause played such a central role in our lives that I didn't realize until many years later how unique it was. A few years before I was born, the men of the house (Uncle Al, Uncle Frank and my dad) built it in the side yard.
The summerhouse was a slab of concrete, about 12 feet by 20, with a granite fireplace and chimney in the middle, framed with 4"x4" timbers and screened. Because these were handy guys, there were lights and electric plugs, a picnic table and benches. If it's still there---I can't imagine that anyone would tear it down---there are three random patches of cement among the chimney-stones with the last initials of the men who built it: S, P and O.
I know childhood wasn't perpetual summer, but I have many, many memories of the summerhouse, of barbecues and birthday parites and playing house with my friends. (Although it was not, I learned to my sorrow, safe to leave anything I treasured out there for fear it would be stolen or destroyed. Not all of our neighbors were good ones.)
Peter contributed some lanterns that had been props for something or other---he was a display artist for several years---and they hung in each corner, big colorful beacons when the parties went on into the late evenings. The screens kept the mosquitos out, and the grown-ups could sit and talk while I played with my Barbies or had my nose in a book.
The last time I was there was a winter visit when I was 25. I snuck out there to puff a joint. Hardly the innocent fun of my childhood....
.
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Date: 2010-07-22 02:37 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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