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This is what I took the writing sample from that I used on the "Who I Write Like" meme. I wrote in in October 2006, after my cousins sold Aunt Lizzie's house and asked for us to post our memories on the family web site. I don't think I've posted it here before! Apologies if I have.
***
The first thing I remember about Aunt Lizzie's house is actually me, showing off. Can you believe that? I was 3 or 4 and Dave and Don had friends over and they all asked me to sing - "Sing 'Jesus Loves Me', Colleen, sing for us!" And I did, without a second thought. It's so funny looking back at that now, because I only ever sing by myself or under cover of a church choir - I don't even do karaoke.
Going to Aunt Lizzie and Uncle Jack's house was always a treat, even when we lived close enough to go frequently. There were Dave and Donny - they're probably the closest thing to brothers I've ever had - teasing me and tickling me till I screamed, playing ball in the street, sharing that tiny second bedroom (I think my sisters and I might've committed sororicide if we'd had to share a room that small) full of bobble-head baseball guys and Hardy Boys books.
There were always books, in the little black stand in the front hall, in the big built-in shelves in the living room. There was the row of red books full of all kinds of stories, one with pictures of dinosaurs, the small Scholastic paperback full of ghost stories. Tom Sawyer. The Girl of the Limberlost. Current best-sellers in hardback and paper and books from Aunt Lizzie's girlhood.
If we got tired of reading - if that was even possible - there were games and puzzles and coloring books, stacks of coloring books. Aunt Lizzie never threw them out and everyone colored in them - all the cousins, English and American, Aunt Lizzie herself. On my last night in the house, I sat up late going through the coloring books, tearing out a page here and there - Peggy colored that one, Becky this one. Here's one by Aunt Liz. They all made me smile, some more then others, like the page of baseball equipment Don colored as a boy and carefully labeled "Al Kaline's bat", "Al Kaline's ball", "Al Kaline's glove". When I was done, I colored a picture and put my name at the top and the date, like we used to: "Colleen, April 5, 2006, age 42", and put the book back on the stack.
I could go on and on about Aunt Lizzie's house, about the weeks I spent there with Lisa and with Cheryl, about sleeping on the floor - on the sofa - in the front hall - in the recliner - in Don and Dave's room - and when I went there with Mike for the first time, in Aunt Lizzie's bed (she refused to take no for an answer - did anyone ever change her mind once it was set?). The corner store. Staying up till all hours watching movies on tv. Baseball - lots and lots of baseball. Pepsi and chips and dip around the dining table while people played games. New Year's Eve, shouting "Happy New Year!" to the neighbors after watching the ball drop on tv. New Year's Day with all the family crowded into the house, three tvs on in the living room, and a feast on the table. Falling asleep to the sound of grown-ups laughing and talking in the dining room and waking up the next morning to the smell of coffee, toast, and eggs.
For me, Aunt Lizzie's house was a happy place, a familiar one - when I returned there as an adult after far too long away, it was if I'd just left a few minutes before - went to the corner store to get a loaf of bread and some penny candy - and just walked back in. It was complete acceptance - she didn't care if I was unmarried or fat or hadn't finished school or wore my hair far too long for someone nearly 30. It was stability in a way that none of my childhood homes ever could be. I don't know what Heaven is really like, but I think I have an idea. "In my Father's house," Jesus tells us, "are many rooms." I hope mine's like Aunt Lizzie's house.
***
The first thing I remember about Aunt Lizzie's house is actually me, showing off. Can you believe that? I was 3 or 4 and Dave and Don had friends over and they all asked me to sing - "Sing 'Jesus Loves Me', Colleen, sing for us!" And I did, without a second thought. It's so funny looking back at that now, because I only ever sing by myself or under cover of a church choir - I don't even do karaoke.
Going to Aunt Lizzie and Uncle Jack's house was always a treat, even when we lived close enough to go frequently. There were Dave and Donny - they're probably the closest thing to brothers I've ever had - teasing me and tickling me till I screamed, playing ball in the street, sharing that tiny second bedroom (I think my sisters and I might've committed sororicide if we'd had to share a room that small) full of bobble-head baseball guys and Hardy Boys books.
There were always books, in the little black stand in the front hall, in the big built-in shelves in the living room. There was the row of red books full of all kinds of stories, one with pictures of dinosaurs, the small Scholastic paperback full of ghost stories. Tom Sawyer. The Girl of the Limberlost. Current best-sellers in hardback and paper and books from Aunt Lizzie's girlhood.
If we got tired of reading - if that was even possible - there were games and puzzles and coloring books, stacks of coloring books. Aunt Lizzie never threw them out and everyone colored in them - all the cousins, English and American, Aunt Lizzie herself. On my last night in the house, I sat up late going through the coloring books, tearing out a page here and there - Peggy colored that one, Becky this one. Here's one by Aunt Liz. They all made me smile, some more then others, like the page of baseball equipment Don colored as a boy and carefully labeled "Al Kaline's bat", "Al Kaline's ball", "Al Kaline's glove". When I was done, I colored a picture and put my name at the top and the date, like we used to: "Colleen, April 5, 2006, age 42", and put the book back on the stack.
I could go on and on about Aunt Lizzie's house, about the weeks I spent there with Lisa and with Cheryl, about sleeping on the floor - on the sofa - in the front hall - in the recliner - in Don and Dave's room - and when I went there with Mike for the first time, in Aunt Lizzie's bed (she refused to take no for an answer - did anyone ever change her mind once it was set?). The corner store. Staying up till all hours watching movies on tv. Baseball - lots and lots of baseball. Pepsi and chips and dip around the dining table while people played games. New Year's Eve, shouting "Happy New Year!" to the neighbors after watching the ball drop on tv. New Year's Day with all the family crowded into the house, three tvs on in the living room, and a feast on the table. Falling asleep to the sound of grown-ups laughing and talking in the dining room and waking up the next morning to the smell of coffee, toast, and eggs.
For me, Aunt Lizzie's house was a happy place, a familiar one - when I returned there as an adult after far too long away, it was if I'd just left a few minutes before - went to the corner store to get a loaf of bread and some penny candy - and just walked back in. It was complete acceptance - she didn't care if I was unmarried or fat or hadn't finished school or wore my hair far too long for someone nearly 30. It was stability in a way that none of my childhood homes ever could be. I don't know what Heaven is really like, but I think I have an idea. "In my Father's house," Jesus tells us, "are many rooms." I hope mine's like Aunt Lizzie's house.
