I Remembered.

Memory evades me. All the time. There is no trauma in my life that caused it. I haven't had some physical injury that thwarted it. It just doesn't seem to work well.

And that is a bummer.

I am married to a man and live with a household of children who have impeccable memories.

And that is a bummer.

Not for them but for me. On one hand because my children remember things I did which I wish they didn't and on the other hand, because I don't get to share in the fun.

But, about a month ago, I went with my two daughters,Elise and Christiana,to see my family in Montana and attend my nephew's wedding (Ross was already there b/c he was in the wedding and Corbin did not come with us). First, before staying in Bozeman where the wedding was to be held, we headed to Butte, where I grew up all my life until college. There we'd visit my dad and his wife and two of my sisters, Michone and Natalie Jo. 

Early one morning,on the second day of our visit, I decided to take a walk from my dad's house to the house of my childhood. It was a beautiful morning and you really just can't live in a more beautiful spot. The mountains are gorgeous. The sun is bright. The skies spacious. 

And something strange happened to me.

Memories. I had some. They were simple, ignited by the monuments around me while I walked.

My old grade school.

 The bridge I walked over every day, to and from school.

The mountains.

The street sign.

The House.

Ahhh yes...The House. My home. 

On a whim, I decided to knock on the door of The House. The house that my dad built. The place I grew up. The one with the white stones in the brick. The one that held the numbers

The lady who answered the door that early Saturday morning was super sweet. She remembered my dad and right away invited me to come in and take a look around.

Awesome, I thought. But I knew this moment needed to be shared. I asked her if she would mind if I brought back my two girls so they could see

The House.

Finally, my chance at sharing some memories. This would be a first.

I walked my little self, as quickly as possible, back to my dad's. Upon my return, I announced to the girls that they were going with me, pajamas and all. I had a surprise for them.

As we drove,I told them everything I've already shared with you so far in this blog, about my school and my long (not really but it seemed like it) walk home. Then some other things like the time someone tried to kidnap me while my friend Gwen and I were walking over the bridge. How we ran fast and took the shortcut through the back field. (Yes, I am serious. He offered us some candy if we would get in the car with him. It was scary). 

Then we came to The House. And there, I was able to share a few more things, like...

...these trees.

Four trees. Four girls. 

These four trees, all planted at the same time, grew just like this. Stair-stepped. Just like it was done on purpose. Oldest to youngest. Michone, Christine, Robin, Natalie Jo. Isn't that strange? But true. These are our trees. For us four girls. And here they remain.

The kind lady who now owns the home, won't let her husband cut these trees down because she knows...

...these are memories. They must stay.

Then there was this....

I didn't even see it at first. Stepped right over it when Elise stopped and said, "Mom!" and then pointed at this monument. Of course, I was only 5 years old when we made this impression so I don't remember it at all but, it sure was a sweet thing to see... for me...and for my girls. And even cuter since the current grandchildren who were visiting their grandmother in The House, colored the tiny hand impressions with chalk.

Then there was this....



The intercom system. Yes, we could talk to each other from all around The House. Even to those who came to our front door.

"Who is it?" we would ask. Well, maybe...I can't really remember that part.My memory doesn't serve me. Just seems like it would be so since the location of one of the speaker things was right by the front door.

And this....

leftover from this...

My dad built this fireplace too. It looked a lot cooler when we lived there. Not too fond of the added decor. It's gorgeous all by itself. And very memorable.

We peeked into the backyard from the kitchen I washed many a dish in and I realized that the same wooden fence that my dad had built to keep us safe and secure, was still standing. Wow!

As we walked to the car after our tour of The House, Elise said to me, "Mom, that is the most I have ever heard you share about your childhood."

Yep! That is true. Most of the time I can't recall a whole lot of anything but this day was special.

I remembered.