SEVEN FOR YOU â—½ TIPS
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Our Panel of Women
It’s the month of Thanksgiving, when family members gather. And maybe you’re missing someone this year, or family lives too far away and won’t make the dinner, or there’s just not a lot of joy to be found. We thought it would be so fun to share some childhood memories of our homes with you, to invite you to share yours, and to give thanks for those memories. While not all childhood homes left good memories, there are often some great ones to hold on to, worth sharing. Enjoy!
When I was a little girl, we lived in a small country home that my daddy had built himself. It was truly the beginning of homes with open concept. The living room and dining room flowed together along with the kitchen and hallway that led to the bedrooms. Along the connecting wall between the living and dining rooms, my daddy constructed built-in shelves from the floor to the ceiling. These shelves were only about three inches deep and they were solely for my mom’s salt and pepper shaker collection. She had sets from everywhere! She had them from every vacation, every state, every holiday, everything you can imagine. Some were gifts and some had been passed down to her from family members. And she dated them on the bottom along with the location they came from.
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As a child, this collection mesmerized me. I would sit for hours at a time, and yes, I said for hours, imagining stories around the sets. Sometimes I would even mix and match. Of course I was not allowed to touch them, but in my imagination, we were creating all kinds of adventures. I held on to boxes full of her salt and pepper shakers for years after she died but as time went by, I would move and lose some. And then finally, one home I lived in had no room to store them, so I had to throw away many boxes. It broke my sentimental heart. I did keep a few sets and have recently been giving them to my daughter. But I have enough to bring back the memories. Occasionally, I’ll be at estate sales and see a set that looks just like one my mama had. And every time, I have to pick it up and see if there’s a date and location written on the bottom, just in case. – Carole
My childhood home was fun as a child and challenging as a teenager. We lived on 13 acres in the country. Our home was lovely, but the land....sighhh. All that dirt! I love dirt. My parents built our home, an amazing shop, barns, a garden that the fire ants ate up and fences all around. But with all that building....came lots of dirt. And mowing. And animals. Fresh air. Just perfect for a kid. I think every child should get to grow up where you burn your trash, lol. I still love fires! My memories consist of learning to use power tools, operating a riding lawn mower at way too young of an age, and helping my mom grow roses. They once let me paint part of the outside of the house...I was too young to realize it was underneath a porch and wouldn't be seen, lol. I was ALWAYS dirty, my brother was always dirty, and we were HAPPY. I'm still happiest (and most alive) when I'm sweaty and covered in dirt!
I appreciate suburban life, too, because it's easy to get where you're going. Living in the country was challenging as a teenager. I had to leave for school super early, which meant less sleep. And if I got grounded from my car....there wasn't a SOUL coming to pick me up way out there in the boondocks! But I wouldn't trade it...I am a country girl at heart. - Laura
My favorite memory of home was having a real home for the first time. My Dad was in the military, and we moved every three to four years. I was born in Texas, but I was a year old when we moved to England, where we stayed with my family for two years before moving to a rental. After England, we moved to Nebraska. Two different rental homes there. Then Germany for four years and three different rentals. We came back to Texas in 1970. We rented a duplex and then, in 1971, Mom and Dad bought our first home on Ware Road.
I finally felt grounded, a place to call home at last. No more moving boxes!
Home
Skipping from here to there
Things left in boxes
Things left behind
Feeling Paddington lost
with my tag asking to be sent home
A plane to there
A ferry across the waves
Tossed by circumstances I never asked for
My planting uprooted more than I can count
Where is my corner to belong
that place to call home
It’s over the sea to Dover
Where the gulls cry “here” – Cathy
My childhood home is up for sale, and it makes me sad. Life has to move on, right? And as we cleared out the house, put up furniture for sale, it felt like we were erasing the memories. But we weren't. They're still with us.
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One of my favorite memories of home is Mom in the kitchen at holiday season, especially Thanksgiving and Christmas. She always wore an apron, and the house was always hot, because of the oven. She said, "Melvin, can you turn on the air-conditioner?" and he did, until the rest of us were freezing...but Mom was comfortable. She made the best gravy at Thanksgiving, and her pecan pies are still a legacy. We girls even have the recipe printed on a tea towel, hanging in our own kitchens.
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When we arrived, we entered through the garage door right into the kitchen, where Mom was completely engrossed in creating dishes to set the table. It was truly her happiest moment when her kids arrived,
and she hugged each of us as we entered. That kitchen is full of wood cabinets, a bar where we could sit and converse while she cooked - and often she handed us a bowl of pecans that Dad had shelled - so that we could break them up for the pies.
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They say the best memories are made in the kitchen, and I would have to agree...- Marcy
One of my favorite childhood memories is the family devotions we had at night before bed. About 20 minutes before bedtime we would gather in the living room or my parents’ sitting room. Mom always had a scripture passage or an inspirational reading or both to share with us. Then we would all kneel and pray for a bit. I remember the sound of the voice of each parent as they thanked our Lord Jesus for his many blessings and talked with him about the needs of the day. As I got older I had prayer time on my own. But, I still feel comfort when I think of their commitment to worshiping God. - Gina
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I lived in the same modest house from birth until I left for college. The house was a 3 bedroom, 2 bath, single story home that was typical of the 1950’s building boom. Prior to my family buying the home in the early 60’s, a large family room was added on the back. The den, as my family called it, was magical! It had a large stone fireplace and mantle that held all the Christmas stockings. It was far enough away from the master bedroom that the noise we made as kids never bothered my parents. It was the perfect setting for so many slumber parties, birthday gatherings, and movie nights that it makes me happy just to think about it. When my childhood friends reminisce about our slumber parties, the den it always mentioned as the ideal spot for 11 sleeping bags and the 11 mischievous girls that never slept. - Shelley
As an Air Force brat, I had many homes throughout the world. But, the one that stands out in my mind was the one in Omaha, Nebraska. It was a 1920s triplex that had a beautiful mahogany staircase, carved pocket doors between the living room and dining room, a mahogany fireplace, and a claw foot tub in the one and only upstairs bathroom. In the front was a brick enclosed porch, and a vestibule that lead to the parlor. So grand!
I was in first and second grade in the 1960s when I lived in that house with my parents. My school was just down the block. To this day, the smell of wood-burning fireplaces take me back to the neighborhood.
In the 1990s I went back to Omaha and drove by the old house. (I still remember the address, 1210 S. 10th St.!) I was outside taking photos when the new resident came out to say hello. I
told him I lived there as a child and they invited me in! It was gorgeous, they left all of the architectural details up while updating the bathrooms and the kitchen. What a treat that was.
(As I wrote this, I did a Google Earth search on the address and I am so sad to see that the property has fallen into disrepair.) – Anita