Writing is therapeutic, so I try to write nearly every day. It allows me to express emotions and release pent-up feelings; reflect upon a situation and solve problems; or recall precious memories and create moments of happiness when the going gets tough. I invite you to join me in recalling and writing your memories. Write with me and post excerpts in the "comments" section of this website or start a journal of your own which might one day become a memoir or novel. Feel free to comment or ask questions. What follows is my journal entry for January, 2014 titled, "Our Ponderosa."
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My brother didn’t know, but he helped to raise a Vulcan, a tiny shemale who had no sense of self nor well-being, nor any ego to speak of, just a drive toward perfection, the only reason she was born human in the first place. This is how I sometimes felt, and sometimes, I try but fail to imagine what my life would be without my "four-eyed" brother who had to hold a book four inches from his face in order to read.Yet, he managed to help grow a girl who helped grow a family.
I grew up in a large, white, wood-frame house, a house that could have been situated anywhere
in the world but was located in the lower Midwest. It was surrounded by vegetation—hedge bushes on both sides of the house, a large elm tree in the front yard which also provided shade for the neighbors on hot summer days; a pecan tree in the middle of the back yard, a mulberry bush, and fruit trees, including two apple trees, a peach tree, and a pear tree; and different types of flowers—daylilies, crocus, gladiolas, petunias, four-o’clocks,
periwinkles, morning glories, marigolds, honeysuckle, and roses of every color and size -- growing wild along the fence or planted in
flower beds. In the middle of the backyard was a concrete fish pond filled with
speckled, bobble-headed goldfish. Beyond the backyard gate was Truman Elementary School, situated on a hill overlooking a park with a playground, basketball court, and two baseball diamonds. Each summer, we watched little-league and men's baseball tournaments right from our backyard fence.
It was a large, nine-room house that allowed us to run through every room without stopping. It had been built especially for the housing developer
and his family, so it was the best landscaped house in the neighborhood and the largest. When my father took his pregnant wife and five children to see it for the first time, he was
brimming with pride. I’ll never forget the smile on his face as he embraced our
mother who smiled and snuggled approvingly. The house was located next to the corner lot across the street from the white section of town. We didn't know we were encroaching, and for a while we played with the white children who lived across the street, sometimes sitting curbside underneath the streetlamp until suppertime. We didn't know at the time, but this big, white house and its landscape became our Ponderosa (to be continued).
