12th Avenue South

         The house at 12th Avenue South is important to me because it contains my very first memory.  While the rest of the family went to Aunt Jean’s wedding reception, I was packed away in the second floor bedroom because I was too young to go out.  I remember that the room was almost magical, which is why I remember it, because it was filled with wedding presents and one wall held fish netting that Jean had sown seashells into.  I slept on the floor that night but usually the Frazier kids sacked out in the basement together and I remember playing with Jean’s guitar until the strings broke off of it.

        My only strong memory of my grandmother is when we were alone in her kitchen and she made me a peanut butter and honey sandwich.  It was the best sandwich that I have ever had because Grandma made it just for me and, while I ate it, she gave me her full and undivided attention as she talked to me at the dining room table.  It made me feel special because I was a shy boy and I don’t think that I said a word during this whole interchange.  After I finished my lunch, Grandma put me in front of the television in the living room to watch “Bob Terry and His Pirates” while she cleaned up.  I don’t remember why we were at the house by ourselves but our brief time together makes for a nice memory for me.  My eyes tear up a little when I think back on my lunch with Grandma.

        There are so many memories of the house because we used to visit Grandma and Grandpa there about once a year when I was very young.  I remember the entryway into the living room because that is where the David Frazier family stood awkwardly, all five of them, as we met our cousins for the first time.  It felt a little forced because I think that our parents were expecting us to immediately embrace each other but instead we spent the first few minutes sizing each other up.  It was in that exact same entrance where my cousin, Kathy, mistook Chris Wagoner for me when we rode our bicycles through Minneapolis on our cross country trip in 1978.  It was in the living room where Grandpa kept his pipes on the table in front of the fireplace.  Kathy said that Grandpa had three telephones and a teletype machine in the basement so that he could work from home as a dispatcher for American Commercial Barge Lines.  When he needed a break from work he would grab a pipe from the stand and then go outside to pull some weeds while smoking it.

        The house on 12th Avenue is owned by a couple named Mark and Jill.  I had written them to ask if I could drop by to take some pictures and they not only agreed but they ended up giving us a three hour tour.  Kathy, who had grown up in the house, joined me for the visit.  It was so nice to know that the house had been bought by a responsible owner who has taken good care of it.  Mark has done a lot of remodeling, including an addition to the second floor and putting French doors in the dining room that open up to a new patio.  These changes make the place look a lot bigger and brighter than I remember it.  The sidewalk, where we had set our creations made out of the clay that we had dug up from the creek bed, had been replaced and all of the landscaping had been redone.  Only the basement had remained unchanged and Kathy pointed to the jars that Grandpa had nailed to the ceiling to have a convenient place to store his nuts and bolts.  Finally, Kathy was proud that Mark and Jill had taken some of her artwork that had been stored in the attic and had displayed it in the office and the living room.