Hello friend, how are you? Did you know today is International Children’s Book Day? Do you have a favorite storybook from when you were young? I do. I have several. When I was in grade school, there was a Scholastic book sale every month. The teacher would give out paper catalogs with all the new books you could order. It was always fun to look over the catalog and decide which book to order. My parents would give me a budget since this happened every month. I remember loving the Francis books, a badger who is feisty and imaginative, which causes her to get into trouble sometimes. I also loved Katy No-Pocket, a kangaroo without a pocket to carry her son Freddy in. These books were a beloved part of my childhood.

Speaking of beloved parts of childhood, I lived on a storybook street growing up with some of the best neighbors. We moved to the street when I was two years old, and at that time I think there were only two young families living on that street: the Gidleys and my family. The rest of the people either had children in middle school to high school ages or they had already been retired for years. The street was wide, for a fountain was once in the middle of it; of course, that was years before we came along. The years of the trolley and not a city bus—these were stories my neighbor Norma would tell me when I was curious enough to ask. Our house was lived in by the Door family before we came along. It was a two-story house with two bathrooms—one upstairs and one in the coal bin that was long gone when we arrived. The house was originally built without a bathroom, but they were added before we came as well. There were three bedrooms and a playroom, a long living room with built-in bookcases, French doors, and a fireplace. I remember a swinging door between the dining room and kitchen; sometime in my growing-up years, my Dad took that door down. The kitchen was small, with a butcher block bar that my Grandpa built and fruit wallpaper that he hung, reminiscent of Willy Wonka. It was the seventies. We had harvest gold appliances that were later replaced by white. The basement wasn’t finished. My dad had his workshop down there, my mom her painting table, and our washer and dryer were down there too. At one point, there was a very old linoleum rug that was pale blue and floral attached to the basement floor. It was halfway gone, so my dad got rid of it. Now that I am older and appreciative of vintage things, I would love to go back in time and see that rug again. After my sister and I had grown, and my parents went their separate ways, I visited that house one more time. I gave it a hug and was thankful for all the special times I could remember sharing with my family. And I was thankful for the neighbors who watched me grow up and were kind to my sister and me, because sometimes we were the terrors of the neighborhood.

As always I’m glad you’re here.

Best,

Amy