As I said in my first post, we live in the house where I grew up. The neighborhood is one of those places where people grow up and move out but then they move back to raise their own families and really put down roots. Take my kids' busstop, for instance. One parent I've known since first grade; one grandparent has known my next door neighbors for over fifty years. This morning another grandparent offered us shelter in her car when the light drizzle turned into a sudden downpour and as we chatted we discovered that she lives four houses away from my step-mother and her husband and her husband knew my dad. Everyone on this block has been here at least ten years. My next door neighbors moved into their house three days before my grandparents moved into this one and that's where the story of my house starts.
Actually it starts a little before that. My grandfather spent most of his adult life working for the Pennsylvania Railroad. He worked his way up from shovelling coal to Yard Master mostly in my hometown (and if you know anything about railroading I probably just gave it away) but eventually he was promoted to Pittsburgh as an engineer (the blueprint kind, not the driving the train kind). My grandmother was so impressed with the movers that she frequently told the story of how she'd left a piece of toast on her dining room table before they started packing up and when she walked in the front door of their new house two hundred miles away the piece of toast was on the same plate, in the same position on the dining room table. They only lived there for a few years until some family issues called them back to their hometown. The house they found was in a new development, so new the streets hadn't even been paved, and they were the second family after my next door neighbors.
About the house itself, it was built in 1966 and is a three bedroom, one and a half bath split level. It sits on a huge corner lot that would be fabulous if it was flat but instead is weirdly graded and hilly. It used to be the garden that belonged to my childhood neighbor across the street (Mrs. G) but the back of the property was wooded and used as a dumping ground by the people on the next block. I could probably do a post about stuff we've dug up over the years but that'll have to wait. For now, I have a small freestanding cabinet upstairs waiting to be stripped of the awful paint job someone who is not me did to it a couple of years ago. Photos forthcoming if I don't damage myself or it. Till then, have a great day!