Bio
Latest
This Year
Last Year
Older
Music
Links
Profile
Notes
E-Mail
Diaryland
406 Shea Lane April 20, 2006 @ 9:21 a.m.
The house in Long Beach was two stories high, lined with horizontal wood that was painted a denim blue color, which was rimmed with white to match the rest of the houses in the development. A white light-up sign with the numbers 406 was posted on the front of a two-car garage, where my mom used to hold our cub scout den meetings. The garage had an automatic door whose distinctive sound alerted the rest of the family whenever one of the parents returned home. That garage door sound, and the consequences thereof, probably stands out in the memories of a lot of the kids of my generation.
Next to the garage was a decorated gate which led into a front garden lined and paved with red brick. My mom was fond of growing weak and delicate annual flowers like impatiens, pansies and forget-me-nots, which never appealed to me for the aforesaid reasons. On the left side of the garden was a cement walkway that led to the backyard. It contained only two items of interest - our big air conditioning unit, and a little one-kid sandbox that my brother and I had for many years. The right-side of the brick garden led up to our front door, which if I remember correctly had something ornate on it, yet had a very simple doorbell to go with it.
The backyard wasn't really a yard - it was more of a patio with spaces of dirt for plants, with a wooden wall seperating our allocation (and it was small) from the neighbors'. I don't remember if there was any grass back there, which makes it unlikely there was. There was a patio-furniture set that I believe was white - we had one of those umbrella tables that didn't get used that often.
One year in elementary school, I had a corn stalk I transplanted into the back that had trumped the rest of my class with the help of some MiracleGrow. I was quite enthused with it, but unfortunately, my dad forgot to water it when we went on a trip for a week or two, and it was near death when I got back. I also grew some sunflowers back there in later years which did relatively well. My mom lamented our 'yard' constantly for both the hard-packed, infertile clay soil, and the lack of space and grass for Jonathan and I to have a proper yard for children.
Inside the front door was a little entryway which I think had tile floor. Its main feature in my later years there was a small fish tank, which I think I decided at several points was not worth the constant effort required to maintain its cleanliness. Several of the fish, mostly goldfish with a few other varieties, got sick at one point. I had names for several of them, but I often felt guilty that their lives must be so boring. The left of the entryway split into a carpet stairway and a closet that went under the stairway, contorting to its shape, and which provided my brother and I with fun several times.
The right side of the entry way led into a little dining room, with a medium-dark wood table, cushioned seats and a hutch with inherited, rarely-used finery. A doorway from the dining room led into a tiled kitchen, with a high counter which, once mom got some white cushioned barseats, became the main place for my brother and I to eat. The cabinets were originally dark I think, but were later refurbished by Tony, an Italian carpenter who married one of my parent's cousins. The refridgerator of course was my primary interest, followed only by the implements of cookie making - my only cooking specialty for a couple years. My parents frequently (sometimes to annoying frequency) would comment about how I was an eating-machine and they were going to put a lock on the refridgerator.
A doorway from the kitchen opened into our family room, which was very simple in design and decor but was one of my favorite rooms in the house. There was a brown cordoroy couch set that we had for many years, as well as two very comfy plush, blue cordoroy rockers with fold out legrests. There was a little kitchenette table we'd have dinner at sometimes - the most distinct memory I have of that table is pissing off mom so much she threw a glassful of water on me (and I wasn't even a teenager yet). The main feature of the room was for the most part the television, which started out small, but was replaced with a larger one in later years in the house. Jonathan and I would eagerly wake up early on Saturdays to come down and watch a collection of cartoons unparalled by the rest of the week's selection. Favorites included Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, X-Men and Ghostbusters among others. We were frequently frustrated that, watching loyally every Saturday while two or three seasons would play out, we would be rewarded with only one new episode, left with a cliffhanger, and then unexpectedly thrown back the next day to the beginning of the series. At first, we'd just watch them again out of loyalty, but after awhile we became tired of watching the initial episodes, both for their worn-out plots and the sense of defeat they always brought.
Small two-steps of stairs bridged the family room to the living room and back to the dining room to form a quad of sorts, allowing you to walk in small circles through four rooms if you liked. The most funny demonstration of this was one time during an extended family gathering in the dining room in which we shooed our dachsund Daisy out of the room through one way, only to see her return through the other entrance in hopes that, taking a diffent path, she'd receive a better welcome.
The living room had a wet bar that was rarely used, although even now I can remember that my mom was fond of Amaretto, Grand Marnier, and Bourbon & 7. One year when I had really bad insomnia, she would give me a shot of one of the aforesaid drinks and let me watch a movie until I had gelled out. I was afraid of not being able to fall asleep, which only made me more awake, so I guess the key was distraction. I remember being very scared about it - being the only one awake in the dark for hours and hours, while even my parents themselves were asleep. Something about that was just so terrifying to me as a kid. The living room also had a couch set and an older, smaller TV, and I remember for some reason we preferred to watch Star Trek: The Next Generation episodes in there. The episode where Picard lives an imaginary life on a dying world and learns to play the flute sticks out in my mind.
On the subject, since I know you're dying to know, I did think Wesley Crusher was cool. Despite his age, he was talented, smart and in a position of responsibility, but unlike others I never had a crush on him. Sorry to dissapoint. I found the transformation scenes in my cartoons to be much more erotic for some reason; of course, I didn't recognize the feelings as sexual at the time. I just knew that watching people mutate into huge, hairy, muscular, wild animals and such was somehow both scary and strange and captivating and exciting and fun and heart-beating all at the same time. See, there it is - Saturday morning cartoons are what really made me gay. Except Jon's not gay too. Ugh - the mystery remains... ;)
Anyway, getting back to the house tour, between the dining room and the garage was my dad's den, whose main features were the state-of-the-art 486 computer and the bookshelves of scouting stuff. I played Tetris for hours on that thing, back when it was a new game. I got quite good at it too - I've never played quite as good as I did back then.
Up the 45 degree stairs was a big bureau that had drawers but could also fold out like a table. Mom would let me and Jonathan roll coins for her and kept the supplies in that bureau. Standing or hanging over the bureau was a big, distinct picture of my mom in her wedding-dress.
"Details in the Fabric" - May 31, 2009
Not So Quick Questions - April 6, 2009
The Morning Stars - Lords of the 15 - April 9, 2009
Sincerity and Faith in Magic - April 10, 2009
Not So Quick Questions (2) - April 14, 2009
|
CURRENT MOON moon phase |
