The kitchen table - You Can Go Home Again

I recently had the opportunity, the block where I grew up visiting. While the road was family, my childhood was not. The current owner has so many exterior changes, when I stopped to look, I do not even feel a twinge of nostalgia. It certainly was not my home anymore.

The place looks familiar, but it was close. The little house with a backyard trees have remained the same in my memory. My teenage daughter and I went on the porch, knockedthe door and I heard my neighbor, in recognition shout what a sweet sound! With a grand salute, played Mr. and Mrs. Andersen us and we sat on the kitchen table. That's where the memories begin to emerge ...

As the day his family had moved in seven years, and my mother was over the fence talking to a young woman with a child. I was introduced to our new neighbors. I ended up wandering into their house and sat down at his kitchen table. How strangePay attention to their window and see my garden from a new angle.

Or the day in winter, when I came home from primary school to my door locked and no one can find at home. I was smart enough to side with a mother with young children is likely to head home and took a job at the kitchen table, are returned to my mother.

I have a little 'bigger, and I was asked the babysitter next door. These parents rarely leave their girls to anyone, I felt a strong sense of responsibility that evening. IRemember the two children with dinner at the kitchen table, a bit 'confused that I was there, instead of mom and dad.

I felt a bit 'like an older sister, older girls. Irene would come to my house, just come with me and we would mixer bowls on my kitchen table and make cakes. I also taught them that if it's fun to make the muffins, it is equally important to keep the pans in the kitchen sink and clean the kitchen table when weDone. I knew I was an example.

I remember that Mr. Andersen fire their grill in the winter. It would be dark for dinner, so with the lights on inside, I could see their family, the kitchen table for dinner, while Dad braved the cold outside.

During the winter kept us inside in summer would bring the neighbors together. I remember my father and Mr. Andersen sharing a beer in his garden, and my mother enjoys a gin and Mrs. Andersenand tonic on his kitchen table. When his family from South America to visit more came every summer (winter), would host a barbecue on Sunday and invite our families to join them. Your kitchen is small, but it was busy, and at the kitchen table was full of food that is grown exotic at first sight for me, but the family over the years.

I was there, in that place once again the familiar, Andersen's "kitchen table was. I fully meetingher kitchen window and looked into the courtyard, where I once played on a swing, a swimming pool, looking suddenly and sat at a picnic table with my first boyfriend. Nostalgia is not in football, where I expected, but from the kitchen table, my neighbors'.