Isn't it weird that you can go in the kitchen and open three cabinet doors looking for a glass. You do know where the glasses are. They have been there for years. Why do you open the wrong doors? It's going to be chaos in the new house because the glasses will actually be in the wrong place!

Back to places I have lived.

Welbron Drive. Though I started in the big bedroom, it went to my sister after a few years and I took the small bedroom. About 11 feet square with a large walk-in closet. My room was pine paneled and I loved the room. I stayed in it with the door shut often. One year we decorated it just for my taste and it stayed that way while I was living there. Black and white chest of drawers, black and white desk (with a map of the United States on top), Red bedspread and curtains on the one window to the back yard. Eventually I had a rocking chair, black with red cushions of course. I spent a lot of time in that room, reading, studying at the desk (adjustable desk lamp, philco clock radio), or talking on the phone. The closet was so big that when I was little I played in there like it was a room.

The house was small. I was acutely aware that my friends had larger houses, nicer houses. But it was a warm place and safe. My friends were welcome and came over to play. There was always sweet tea in the refrigerator. We loved sitting in the kitchen where Mama would deliver up whatever you wanted to eat any time of the day or night. We washed dishes in the kitchen and stacked them on the drainboard. The house had all hardwood floors. They were beautiful. Always a piano in the living room and often someone was playing and singing. The yard was big enough to play in, flat in the back and fenced, with lots of pine trees. Sometimes the yard held a dog. Sometimes not. Dash was a Cocker, Happy a Dalmation, and Stanley part Cocker and part Harrier. He looked like a harrier. He was the smart one. My Dad taught him a million tricks. I don't know if he could read or write, but he could definitely spell. I wrecked my bike on Welbron drive. I got in fights. I played games in peoples basements, helped build tree forts in the woods out of scraps of lumber, and ran on trails through the undeveloped land behind the other side of the street. I was a boyscout there. We played in the creek (part of Snapfinger creek), catching tadpoles and crawfish. We loved to make dams and create pools of water. Adults left us alone and I don't remember ever getting into trouble. We didn't break things or steal things. We did snoop around and find out things we weren't supposed to know. Imagine that. I grew up there mostly, from 5 to 21, with a brief excursion to Florida from 12 to 15. Every place was important to my development. I would have never become who I am today without the 3 years in Florida. It seems like the drive to excellence came from the trip to Jacksonville. When I returned to Atlanta many of my old school chums were not doing so well in school. I went on and left them behind.

The dogwoods in the front yard were wonderful. I visited recently and they are really big. It's in a bad neighborhood now, but the house still is being kept up well and looks nice.