Charlene Morrison Dianne Morrison Clark Melissa Draper Erica Swenson Tao O Otter Tracey Howie Take care of 105 Mimosa By Sarah Morrison Stephens I hung up the phone with my sister Dianne a bit ago, and a weird numbness took over. She let me know that the house I grew up in has a new family residing there. My sister Charlene bought our shares of the house after my Mom died in 2010. She kept it exactly as it was for a long, long time. Slowly we picked through what we wanted and stored the rest. Eventually she hired contractors to renovate it so it could be rented and marketable. On one of my last visits she tentatively gave me a tour of the home, afraid that maybe I wouldn’t agree with all of the changes. But I was happy to tell her I thought it looked amazing. She put in new floors, took down the old paneling, took a wall out between the kitchen and the den that always made the kitchen way too small. New doors throughout, new bathroom fixtures…everything shiny and new. It was beautiful. To be honest, it brought a huge sense of relief. It felt like nothing of the house that I grew up in, and while you may not understand why that makes me happy, follow me here. Up until the renovations walking in there was like pouring salt on a wound. It still smelled the same, and looked the same. I could still see Mom at the kitchen table and Dad in his recliner. At some point, you have to move on. My sister said the new family has two German Shepherds, and that really made me smile. That house was made to have dogs in it. There have been many, many….too many to recount them all, that got love, and hugs and food and shelter in that house. One got CPR through a Dixie straw on the bar in the kitchen and lived to tell about it. All of them slept in the beds with us. It occurred to me I should contact the new homeowners and give them some history. I doubt they will care, and may even think it odd, but before I can let that house go, I have to make sure someone will know a few things. My parents brought me home to 105 Mimosa Boulevard when I was three days old in September of 1968. They had already lived in the house for two years. My first bath was in your kitchen sink. My sisters and I alternated back and forth between the two bedrooms in the back while I was growing up. But my main bedroom was the first on the right down that hall. My Mom came in every night when I was young and we prayed together in that room before I went to bed. At night I would look out the window at the moon and wonder what I would be when I grew up. I read Tom Sawyer in my bed in that room every night before I went to bed, over and over. I placed a rainbow sticker on the window and in the mornings the colorful rays of sunshine would wake me up. I told myself that it was the fingers of God stroking my hair. There were three girls that fought over counter space in that bathroom in the hallway. We had some epic battles. In the other bedroom if you ever make a scratch on the wall, be prepared to see a brilliant purple color underneath the shiny, new white. It was a phase my sister went through. It was the 70s. Forgive her. That living room with the big windows? Many a fat and happy Christmas tree was in that window, covered in more lights than you think possible and so many presents underneath the tree. Every year. Christmas mornings were epic growing up. Santa always seemed to drop fruit from a hole in his lunch sack that Mrs. Claus made for him before he went out on his ride. There was always bananas and oranges scattered on the floor. That sliding glass door off the den that goes to the patio? There is a footprint sticker on there and maybe you have wondered what it is for. I hope you didn’t take it off. Mom put it there when I was learning to walk so I wouldn’t try to walk through the glass. Before Charlene did the renovations, that door was really hard to close and you had to slam it. I still have a deformed fingernail on my right when I slammed my finger in the door. That is also the same day I said my first curse word. The white wall you see on the back patio? My Dad built that before I can even remember. With his own hands and his own sweat. I know it leans a little, but it means something. I used to practice tennis by hitting balls against the wall on that patio with my old tennis racket. The white shed out there? If you have kids and they ever start digging, they are going to find some old Army men about a foot underground. And somewhere in the yard is a time capsule and me and my friends loaded up with goodies when I was about 11. I can’t remember now where we buried it, even though we pinkie swore to each other we would come back one day and dig it back up. I hope you like your kitchen. It is all different and new now, but I used to lay in bed in the mornings and listen to my mother singing in the kitchen. I could smell the coffee and the bacon and she always had Larry Ryan from KEEL A.M. on the radio. He works at 95.7 now, but he has the same voice as always. My cat Lucky is buried outside my bedroom window. He had one eye, he had been shot, run over, stowed away in a vehicle and came back 10 days later. My Dad threatened to haul him off to the dump when he scratched him one time. He died in my arms and I cried. A lot. Try not to disturb him. I can’t even begin to tell you all the memories, love, laughter and pure joy that the house experienced and offered. But those are just memories now. My last visit to the house was so surreal. It was so quiet. So empty. So I have a mission for you should you choose to accept it. Fill up that house with babies and laughter and snuggle time. When a thunder storm comes, go sit out on the back patio and drink hot cocoa under a blanket. Start playing Christmas music in September and keep playing it until February. Buy more Halloween candy than you could ever give out and keep it by the front door. Take in every neighborhood kid that has scrapes or booboos and give them colorful band-aids. Put on some Glenn Miller music and dance in the den like no one is watching. Try to imagine three little girls on the floor watching you and thinking how cool it is their parents love each other so much. My prayer for you is that the house continues to offer love and shelter for its new occupants. Take care of the house. Love it, be gentle with it. Remember, I know where you live. (Typed with a half smile.) Get to know your neighbors. You have some great ones. Invite them over for barbecues and New Year’s Eve parties. Take care of my mama’s rose bushes. She loved them. We already have clippings. I shall mail this to you after it comes out in the paper. After all, I know the address by heart.
Posted on: Mon, 18 Aug 2014 05:23:44 +0000
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