This new house dad bought had a carport, unlike our old one, with a flat roof that I always thought would be the coolest place but dad always said it would be way too hot up there, at least in the summer, and too messy because he said it was tar, I guess, to keep it waterproof to keep it from leaking, but still seems like could have gone up there other times of the year; never did understand. Looked like you could have painted it if it would get you too dirty otherwise. And wouldn’t it have been cool to have a flower box up there but oh well, something never got to do but…
Mom did get to have her flower beds – something I wonder if she did before; I don’t have any memories of them in our other place but doesn’t mean she didn’t but somehow I feel possibly not but that she finally felt settled in this house and so I know she got a brick flower bed in the back yard and a bed down one side of the house besides the ones that I believe were at the front then another brick one in the far front yard on the other side of our semi-circle driveway; she loved her flowers. She even had concrete planters in the backyard as well.
The one thing she didn’t have with this house were porches, like she later had in the one they moved to, with wooden planters she could have her petunias in.
One of my last memories with her was getting her petunias for what would turn out to be her last Mother’s Day (not counting the one the next year that she died on), when she’d been laid up with her hip surgery and rehab and not been able to get out to get them, so that was her first outing, to go pick them out and we brought them home and planted them in her porch planters; they were so pretty.
Another thing the new house had was a bar between the kitchen and dining room that we ate our meals at; again, something else I have no memories of from before, but wish I could find a pix of the chairs we ate our meals ate at this bar; truly must have been the latest, coolest fashion of the time, these deco bright fiesta colored looking plastic scoop bottom chairs that were definitely not the thing for a little 4 yr. old girl to have to sit in to eat at a bar; I could not sit in that scoop at all and reach the bar so I had to sit on the very edge of that chair to even be able to think about reaching that bar to eat, thus developing a habit for years of sitting on the edge of my chairs – so literally almost always “sitting on the edge of my seat”; always in expectation? always, then, being in the way if the chair, later on, not there, was close to a walkway or doorway where people needed to get by me to go somewhere, just became a part of me I’d have to consciously watch – wonder what happened to those chairs when they moved for they still had them; they’d never gotten rid of them, still used them up until then.