A street you love

eastward from my street

I wanted to write about the streets I grew up on. So many memories. I almost wrote about the street I now drive twice a day two and from work. So many heaven-sent views.

But to do so would have been a disservice to the street that has been my home for the longest. The street I love so much that when it was time to move into a bigger home, I could only bear to move across the street.

1320 North.

We’ve been here since the early 1990s, when we moved here with two tow-head toddler boys in tow. So many birthdays, bbqs, and homemade ice cream parties.

That time my kids drove out of my driveway and put a big TV through my rear windshield. Well, not all the way through. The TV was fine. But the windshield shattered into a million tiny pieces.

Our neighbor Bill’s rose bushes. OK, so his wife–the one we’ve never met because she died before we moved in–but his wife’s rose buses adjacent to ours.

The sandbox in house one. So many lakes and rivers and dams and dikes. So many cases of pinworm from the neighborhood cats who played by night in the sandbox my kids loved to play in all day.

Not one but TWO fires. One across the sweet on the 24th of July. The other right next door on New Year’s Eve Day.

Too many deaths. So many of them unexpected. My friend Alice’s toddler, Taysom. Our friend and neighbor and former bishop Merril, to name a few we lost too soon.

So many sunsets and sunrises and rainbows. So many storms. Rain storms and snow storms. I think I mentioned how I used to shovel the driveway of our current home a time or two when we lived in our former home simply because I loved to shovel snow.

So much lightening. We have a lovely view of the valley southward from our living room.

But even more than the quiet street in what was once a brand new subdivision right next to the Beltline (?) in Eugene Oregon and the long two-lane farm road at the end of our long gravel driveway in Junction City, Oregon, this street is home to me.

These people are my people. We’ve loved, laughed, and wept together through all the seasons over and over again. And the people who live here are the same ones I want to see on the other side someday.

[Day 89 of Ann Dee Ellis’ 8-Minute Memoir.]

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