I COULD SEE everything from my windows.
Every day when I wasn't in preschool, I would sit in my stark white living room and look out the window, waiting for my neighbor, Katie, to come home off the bus. Houses were close to each other, and there were many.
If I was lucky, an---Australian Shepherd, maybe---called Chase would be a few doors down, playing in the yard. I didn't know the family personally. I vaguely recalled stopping by a crowded house party once and watching a few young guys play pool there, but that may have been a dream. Still, I enjoyed watching the spirited boy run around or do whatever he did.
Of course, I enjoyed Brittany, my own dog. She was a lovable goofball who didn't mind when I dressed her in my tutus or stacked my toy letters on top of her or organized her dog food. But Chase was amusing too.
Good thing the outside was interesting. Our parents weren't big on decorating. Our living and dining room walls were plain white with cream carpet. Other than a piano, and later, baby Emily's changing table, nothing much was in the bare white living room either. Color came from the presence of play. I do remember my plastic tent taking up residence there, as well as some toy boxes.
The house opened up to a small foyer with shiny hardwood floors; the living room and steps to the right and the dining room to the left. Go down the hall and you'd reach the kitchen, with yellow walls and a sliding door leading to the back patio. To the right of that was a small family room, where we watched TV.
There was also the recently finished basement with classroom-style lighting, new-smelling carpet, and built-in shelves for games where I taught a class of imaginary dogs. We had it done ourselves. My sister Kelly loved talking to "the guys," aka the contractors, whenever they came to work. Later, when it was finished, we loved to play the flashlight game there, shining a plastic flashlight every which way and trying to get the other to catch it.
There was also a computer room---decked out in Dad's vintage golf decor and dark green walls, where we played CD-ROM games such as Pet Shop, A Bug's Life, and more kiddie games like those---and a kitty room, an extra bedroom that we chalked up as a place where the cats liked to hang out. Later, it would become my little sister Emily's room. Mom worked hard creating a 101 Dalmatians theme in the room. The smell of Sharpie was always evident as she would trace puppies on the walls. Sadly, we moved soon after and the work was for naught. I'd heard that the new people painted over everything a week after they moved in.
I had a love-hate relationship with my own small room. Classic Pooh was everywhere--not modern Pooh. I had a classic Pooh comforter, Pooh lining the ceiling, a Pooh pillow, a Pooh growth chart, and pale yellow walls to match. Though I liked Pooh, I was over it. I did like my little bookshelf that was home to old preschool puzzles with four different pieces to place in slots. Kelly would sometimes go in there and try to work through them, while asking, "Where does this piece goes?"
I think my favorite room was the upstairs bathroom, decked out in fish. A Rainbow Fish decal hung out on the wall beside the toilet paper roll, and a wooden fish mobile hung above the toilet. The walls were a teal blue, to match the sea.
I lived in a large neighborhood of midsize Toll Brothers homes, all pretty close together, so I could easily go out the back gate to visit the neighbors behind us, which I did sometimes. But we also loved eating Domino's pizza on the brick patio on summer nights, and picking tomatoes from the plants along the left side of the yard---the days well before my mom had her professional garden.
The whole neighborhood was a great place to walk dogs. There were so many ways you could go; many paths to choose from. You'd see more houses than nature, although there was a swamp around the corner on Redfield. There was also a small hill leading to a little reservoir. One time we encountered some kids trying to put on a magic show in their driveway (they didn't do very well). Another time we ran into some kids yelling at passersby to save the bald eagles. Dad told me they were junior high kids. I didn't know what junior high was, but it sounded like a cool big-kid thing.
The neighborhood was still fairly new, so if you were lucky you might run into a house still under construction that was unoccupied, and you could go in and explore. We never tried to climb the half-finished steps, but the smell of fresh wood was surprisingly pleasing, and it was always fun imagining what the rooms would be. I can drive through on our yearly visit, look at a house that was never mine, and say, "Hey, I've been inside there!"
I was jealous of Katie's bay windows, though. They wereâ¯awesome.â¯We only had boring square windows to speak of with teal blue shutters. And...get this...there was a smaller bay window on the side of the house facing ours. Could she sit on a windowsill to see outside? So fancy! So avant-garde! Although we had a cute house, or so I thought, the outside was very plain...white siding, teal shutters and door, and nine square windows neatly aligned.
Many neighbors were around my age. I often talked to Andrea, the girl whose backyard faced our own, and played on her swing set and visited her bunny, Inky. One time she invited me to a "pool party" in her plastic pool and she wore a snorkel mask while swimming in circles, grabbing my leg. I didn't like it much. Her Easter party with live animals was much better. And then there was Priya, the Indian girl whose mother hosted a book club where we'd read classics like The Rainbow Fish and have snacks. I think there was a girl named Brooke who lived in a house with double doors and a kid named Nicholas who lived next door, though I can't picture their faces.
(I was correct about Brooke, I realized, after recent research. Her mother would become a client at the kennel where I worked for a small period. I remember her because their dog was bit by another dog in daycare and we gave her a free day. Isn't it funny how people come back into your life?)
I wasn't a stranger to Katie, either. I liked to play on her swing set and was forever trying to gain the courage to climb across the monkey bars. In fact, the whole neighborhood would often get together for events like Easter egg hunts and kids' birthday parties.
It was a house and it was a community---or, at least, the closeness of the homes and the ability to easily visit neighbors gave it that feeling. When we moved out when I was in second grade, the new upgrade didn't really have the same charm and, while homey, didn't match the level or community feeling of the old house and neighborhood. There were no sidewalks to walk our dogs. And no, there were no bay windows to admire.
***
I visit Dunst Drive once a year. It's dark, because we're there to see Christmas lights, but a highlight is always seeing those houses again and sometimes getting a glimpse of life inside. I get a twinge of sadness when I see how my room is now painted dark blue, though I knew it couldn't be Pooh-themed forever. I admire what the new people did with the dining room (COLOR!!! ACTUAL DECORATIONS IN THE FORM OF...well, lots of china...BUT STILL), but wonder why they changed the color of the door and shutters to maroon instead of the light blue that we had.
At that time of year, I remember how we used to go sledding. Dad would pull us on the quiet streets because nobody was out driving, and the snow muffled everything so that it was peaceful. Looking at the tiny hill now, it's a wonder how that would be exciting at all. The hill is maybe six feet down.
The interesting thing about your home, and your street, is that it's what you know. How many times have you been reading a book and you find the main character "living" in your own house, or a vacation house, or a friend's? It takes too much brainpower to construct an original house unless the author is super detailed. To this day, some of my characters still "live" on Dunst Drive as I read. My brain will often default there instead of my current house.
But I didn't always live on Dunst Drive. Actually, I spent only about 5 years in that house. Still, its walls defined my early childhood. It was the place where my sister and I invented many of our pretend games and where we all established family routines.
***
I was originally born in New Jersey, not too far from the Jersey Shore in a bland small town. We would move a couple of years later, into the new house in Pennsylvania on Dunst Drive. My sister Kelly was born, followed by little Emily a few years after that.
But our family was pretty small. My dad was an only child, and they grew up several states away until moving locally years later. My mom grew up at the Jersey shore with her brother, where we'd end up vacationing for some summers. We sometimes got together with them, and their daughter was our cousin.
Farther down the line, there was also my dad's cousin and his family in Maryland. My grandpa also had a couple of older relatives living in West Virginia that we went to see once or twice when I was young, but weren't very close to them either. Our house and my paternal grandparents made up most of our family unit, and sometimes we saw my mom's brother's family and her dad. We lived a simple family life.
Then something new entered the equation.
"I have a surprise for you," my mom said one day, in the living room.
"What? What?" I loved and hated surprises. The anticipation was just too much.
"Guess where you get to go next week?"
I couldn't guess. Manasquan Beach, where we went every summer? Disney World? Grandma's?
"School!"
"Awwww!" I was expecting something great.
"Brynn will be there," my mom said. "And Samantha."
Samantha was my very first friend. We met our first year in preschool, and would often visit each other. We would start and end each visit with a hug. Our moms, too, would be friends for many years to come, and her older sister would come over to babysit in later years. Brynn, too, was someone I'd talked to. I liked Brynn because of her recent party, where she had a small inflatable trampoline. I would jump up and down while watching traffic go by on the road behind us. There were a lot of FedEx trucks out and about that day, and I would sing "FedEx!" as it appeared and sung "Exit!" as it drove away.
Still, "surprises" warranted more exciting activities. School wasn't all that bad, though I didn't think so at first.
Back when I was starting school, my mom got an idea. She bought me a Disney sticker book that had large stickers in the back which you'd place on a coloring-book image. When I first accomplished a small task, the teachers would place a sticker on its respective page. It was like a video game. You grabbed your school bag from the fence without help at the end of the day! Achievement unlocked: Peter Pan!
Soon enough I loved my school. I loved the rubber duck that sat in the puddle in the parking lot that collected whenever it rained. I loved when Fireman Bud came to visit and I loved the Halloween parade and I loved dinosaurs, especially the Stegosaurus, and I loved coloring, yet it also stressed me out because no matter how hard I colored, there would always be minuscule, itty bitty bits of white when we weren't allowed to leave any white space. I loved snack time and playing with the doll that had spaghetti-like hair and playing on the playground at the end of the day, awaiting my mom to come get me. I loved the bucket of plastic dogs on our shelf and would take it down every playtime--- if it was on a shelf that I could reach.
(I already had enough trouble asking for help. Embarrassed at the idea of drawing attention to myself when the morning came, I would wait outside the classroom, my back to the wall, waiting for Ms. Aspen, Mrs. Mendel, or Mrs. Hastings to notice me.)
I loved playing with the animal Legos, so much so that I didn't want to nap because I was having so much fun. I loved playing with my friends Samantha and Stacy---not that I remember what we did, other than Stacy once giving me a Perler bead heart at a birthday party. I also loved the Christmas parties, where we'd sing "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" while swinging our elbows across our bodies on the word "wish." Mrs. Hastings would narrate the program in her sweet, scratchy voice.
Even going home was good. There was an Invisible Fence office on the way home which had a cute golden retriever on the sign. I loved that sign.
When I visited my sisters' preschool shows years later, I found myself missing those days.
I didn't go to school every day---only two or three mornings a week. Staying home was great, too. I watched Playhouse Disney, especially Bear in the Big Blue House. I would know when lunchtime was because The Rosie O'Donnell Show would have just ended. I ate lots of the typical kid fare, including Blue's Clues macaroni and cheese. This meal came with blue pawprints that I wouldn't eat for a time. Each afternoon when my dad called from work, he would ask me whether or not I'd eaten the blue shapes. The answer was usually no. One day, I was proud of myself when I finally got the courage to do so. Spoiler alert: they tasted the same as the yellows.
It felt like I was there forever. But it was only two years. Time went slowly back then. I never thought what the next steps would be, if any. I was too busy being a kid.
Life started establishing routines. During the week, I would go to school. Friday afternoons were fun, too. I would take piano lessons with Miss Sarah, and then we'd head to McDonalds for milkshakes and French fries. Then came the weekend.
I wasn't one of those kids who was raised on Saturday morning cartoons. I never liked them; I remember watching a Rugrats special in second grade and hating it. I preferred Arthur. But I had other things I liked to do. I would watch Disney Sing-a-Long-Songs tapes, or get together with my grandparents to celebrate a birthday, and going to Sunday School and dance classes, culminating in recital days in May.
I would also gather around the kitchen island every Sunday to see what my mom bought at the grocery store. But, as boring as shopping was as a kid, the sometimes I got to go to the grocery store as well. That place is a kid wonderland. Bouncy balls! Candy at checkout! Balloons on sticks! Best of all, I was often able to score a sticker from the cashier back then. I accumulated quite a collection, sticking each one below my window in my dad's Volvo.
In the summer, piano lessons were replaced by horseback riding lessons. I rode a small horse called Brandy as our instructor led us around the camp and through the mysterious paths in the woods surrounding it. I would go to Samantha's house for playdates, and we'd always greet each other with hugs. I would also do a variety of summer camps later, most taking place where I went to school---more on them later.
I also loved dogs. Brittany was the best---not that we ever just called her Brittany, but also Bebe, the B, the Boopus, and Boydie. To celebrate her, I would host BeBe Day parties. These parties involved party hats, songs, and soggy Goldfish sitting in Dixie cups--my attempt at some kind of gourmet treat. The guest of honor herself often wore a tutu from an old dance costume, and she was very patient about it, too. Brittany's official song was "In the Mood," which we'd sing to while dancing around the kitchen island in a circle. No lyrics, you say? We had our own. "Boy-duh-bye-dah-boy-da, a boy-da-ba B! Boy-duh-bye-dah-boy-da, a boy-da-ba B! Boy-duh-bye-dah-boy-da, a boy-da-ba B! Bee deet, bee deet, beet deet deet dee..." and so on.
Brittany was also known for getting along with cats---not cranky Daisy, so much, who didn't like anyone. But our chubby cutie Tabitha was best friends with her, and they'd sit in the chair in Dad's study together. When we'd first gotten Tabitha, she lived in her crate in the dining room. She had toys for company, as well as the "cat facts" I'd made up and taped all over the wall. Not Daisy, though. Daisy didn't like sharing her space with another cat, and the two would never get along. But Tabitha was curious, and they soon became friends. We were all good friends with our pets.
All together, these people, moments, and traditions would become very important; I'd often play by imitating them. Miss Sarah would write the songs we'd be practicing that day in a notebook in list form. I'd do the same, keeping a notebook with songs I invented and lists of them. I had a special Pooh journal that I used for piano songs. I couldn't figure out how to play them all on the piano, but I sang them anyway, or just wrote lists of them as if I was going to practice them on the piano too.
The only songs I remember are in my Pooh journal, which I still own. These songs are some of my first non-academic legible writing.