Makes My Monday: The Playground Poignancy

When they saw the 1929-built home; they both knew.

Their Sundays as newlyweds were spent hand-in-hand, surveying open houses. He was compelled, and finally did, convince her—a lifelong apartment-dweller —a home purchase was indeed a wise choice.

Serendipitously enough, their first house was never “open.” A Kismet call from a house-sitting friend spurred the first sighting. Small windows---like soul revealing eyes---flank a fireplace. An archway entrance introduces a sleeping porch cum office. A tire swing suspended from a sturdy branch adorns a century-old Pin Oak. Hardwood floorboards (especially that next-to-the-last stair) creak lovingly, acknowledging the weight of a traverser’s presence.

They knew. They just knew.

Closing day. Papers signed. Down payments made.

The magnetism of that sunny first day of ownership proved irresistible. He placed a foot in the tire swing. Rotted rope brought it crashing to the ground. Laughter, Love. Looking forward…

Days, months passed. Screened-in porch? Enclosed. Asbestos-enrobed original-to- the-house furnace? Removed. Heinous blue and pink stenciled pears? Painted over. Babies (twins) are born. Seven years pass.

A sand box entertained the tot toddlers; sprinklers the preschoolers, jump ropes, balls and bubbles the “big kids.” The mighty Pin Oak stood watch, providing shade, craving activity under its branches. It was time.

They knew. They just knew.
Laughter. Love. Looking forward...


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