Going home, again

The color has been changed. The garage doors are different. There is a skylight where none existed before. The upstairs middle window that is lit up is a three-quarter bath where, as a little girl I would help my dad apply his shaving cream, and the master bedroom is the window to its left. The bedroom behind the chimney used to be mine. The window to the right of the front door is that of the living room where our piano, which now sits in my Washington living room, used to reside, where I played the piano for the very first time, ever, and where I spent countless hours practicing. The window to the left of the front door opens into the dining room where in the back corner, under the wallpaper, I secretly scrawled my name and the date, many, many years ago. And because of that, this will always be my house.

(I'd left my camera's SIM card at home, so had to snap this with my iPhone camera, thus the grainy quality. It was dusk, and I had just come from the most wonderful get-together with several grade school pals, Millie, Anne, Janet and Joe, yay! I would've lingered even longer, but slipped out while there was still enough light to grab this shot of my childhood home.)