My Favorite Street in the World
My entry in monkee's blogaversary contest:
From her blog, Fruitcake Knits...
(A) Take a picture of your favourite road, highway, sidewalk, little path where the rabbits run, or anything you like that could vaguely fall into this category. Even a hallway. Whatever. Tell me some little factoid about it that might explain why you like it.
Hands down, my favorite street has to be High Street.
My family has lived on High Street since the end of WWII. It is a dead end street with only 10 houses on it. We are a two-minute walk from the center of town, just off the Main Street; close enough to be very convenient yet far enough away to not hear the traffic.
The other night I was sitting on my front lawn knitting, waiting for the charcoal to be ready, and watching the girls play outside. Mary was riding her bike. Emma was playing on her slide. The neighbor kids were having skateboard contests and bike races alternately. My husband was mowing my sister's lawn. Alan was finishing his new deck. Tracey stopped over with a couple of necklaces for the girls that her own daughter had grown out of and thought my kids might like. Jack was washing his truck.
I thought about how we did the same things growing up--bike races, playing matchbox cars with the neighbor kids, and cooking on the grill while Dad cut the grass for his mother. And while I love my memories of growing up, and I cherish the ones we're making every day, I get the warmest feeling thinking of sometime in the distant future where my son-in-law is cutting the grass for me while my grandkids practice riding their two-wheelers in the street.
My roots are here, and it's where I'm happiest.
From her blog, Fruitcake Knits...
(A) Take a picture of your favourite road, highway, sidewalk, little path where the rabbits run, or anything you like that could vaguely fall into this category. Even a hallway. Whatever. Tell me some little factoid about it that might explain why you like it.
Hands down, my favorite street has to be High Street.
My family has lived on High Street since the end of WWII. It is a dead end street with only 10 houses on it. We are a two-minute walk from the center of town, just off the Main Street; close enough to be very convenient yet far enough away to not hear the traffic.
The other night I was sitting on my front lawn knitting, waiting for the charcoal to be ready, and watching the girls play outside. Mary was riding her bike. Emma was playing on her slide. The neighbor kids were having skateboard contests and bike races alternately. My husband was mowing my sister's lawn. Alan was finishing his new deck. Tracey stopped over with a couple of necklaces for the girls that her own daughter had grown out of and thought my kids might like. Jack was washing his truck.
I thought about how we did the same things growing up--bike races, playing matchbox cars with the neighbor kids, and cooking on the grill while Dad cut the grass for his mother. And while I love my memories of growing up, and I cherish the ones we're making every day, I get the warmest feeling thinking of sometime in the distant future where my son-in-law is cutting the grass for me while my grandkids practice riding their two-wheelers in the street.
My roots are here, and it's where I'm happiest.
posted by Poops | 11:54 AM
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