the eugene bean

For my friends who don't live in cyberspace:
I'm going to be posting to this blog as part of a challenge from my favorite scrapbooking website. I hope to get better at it as time goes on but it's a bit stressful. I spent 2 hours last night trying to come up with interesting banter that someone would want to read. I sincerely thank Lea for the topic!

So, what defined my childhood?
In a word, neighborhood. We moved into my childhood home when I was about 6. It was a beautiful home that my parents designed and built. I have memories of walking around inside the wooden frame, looking at what would be my own room one day. Our backyard was the levee so we had plenty of greenspace to run around on. We often rode our bikes down it, no hands of course. Across the street lived the Trouard family. I can remember the first time I met Lisa, the oldest Trouard, we sat on her steps and chatted. She told me she loved to feel earlobes and I thought she was super cool. Renee is Stacy's age and the 2 of them were in the same class at St. Clement of Rome. They were inseperable and I spent most of my time stuck between being too cool for them and dying to play with them but too proud to ask. Jen came around a few years later and over the years became a true friend to Brad. The six of us were the royalty (all queens, sorry Brad) of our neighborhood. Along with us was Daniel, Dougie, Nick, Meghan, Sal, Mandy, Danielle, Kelly...from the moment our homework was complete until our parents yelled for us to come inside we roamed the neighborhood. (No one yells to their kids to come home around here. I feel like a hillbilly.)

We played everything. We threw the football, rode our bikes (Stacy and I had Blue Angles while Renee rode Sweet Thunder), played in the treehouse, told ghost stories about Witch Hazel, kissed boys, listened to our pink transister radio. I remember putting fruit that was deemed unworthy to be eaten at lunch in the middle of the street to be smushed by passing cars.

This time of year always makes me feel nostalgic. I remember stepping outside to walk to the bustop and feeling fall instantly. It would make us want to run to the bustop, turning cartwheels the whole way!