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The House on 51st Street
The old house in winter
More than just a house
Your majestic presence high on a hill, dominated my childhood. I first saw you when I was four years old. My sister and I ran through your emptiness, listening to our voices echo throughout you.
Your attic and basement were a little spooky, but I got used to them. I spent many happy hours, running and playing in the five acres that surrounded you.
It was an adventure walking down your winding, rocky driveway to check the mail. And on my first day of school, I looked back at you in great sadness, as I left.
When we came in from playing in the snow we placed our brown jersey gloves on your furnace vent. I can still hear the sizzle, as they dripped into your furnace, below.
In the springtime, your yard came alive with a multitude of flowers. The lilac bushes greeted us with their special fragrance. The peonies were breathtaking. There were so many tulips and flowers that I never did learn the name of.
When I came home from school, there you were to greet me. And when I think of Thanksgiving, I think of you, and all the wonderful aromas of that special time of year. And it was not just the food, but the fellowship of family coming together to share a special meal.
At Christmas time, you lit up with squeals of laughter and joy. Bells hung from your hallways and all the good things from childhood lie within your doors.
You gave so much to me and asked for nothing in return. In 1961 my father got a movie camera and captured many wonderful moments inside you. They are now on tape and I can revisit them whenever I wish. So many beautiful moments are frozen in time within those films of you.
And I still visit you every now and then, as my brother owns you. Your exterior and interior are different, as you needed things done to you. But I know that you still remember me and I can never forget you. And I just want to say thank you, for all the amazing things you brought into my life.