So Long, 830 Overlook Court East

I wrote back in December about how my parents moved out of our home.  The only home I've ever known.  They moved in there - after building this place - in 1976 (I think.  Might have been 1975?  Either way...before I was born.).

That's me and my three sisters along with my Mom and Dad taking one last photo in front of the 'house on the hill'.  My sister Vic wrote a very nice post on the Facebook about her memories that I can't top, but this milestone is hitting me with a long drip of melancholy.  It wasn't a full blast of sadness/memories when they sold and moved.  But now?  The idea that my parents have parted with their house keeps cropping up in my mind.  Perhaps it is because we're going through the house purchase/finding side of things ourselves.  Thinking that where ever we end up is going to be our 'forever house'.  This *was* my parents 'forever house'.  And it was a good one.

The house holds many memories.  From holidays to working with BOTH of my parents to scheme and plan and execute my campaigns for local office.  Sure, I have childhood memories, but I also moved in with my folks after college for a number of years.  Those were the salad years.  I loved them.  I still remember spending time with my Dad in the evenings and when campaign season came around, I had no harder-working volunteer than him.  He walked more neighborhoods than I even did.   And we'd sit at the counter or on the couch talking about the moves we'd make to beat back the Mayor's 'stooges'.  Oh, the laughs.  It was great to have a shared mission and I couldn't have done what I did - with 3 elections - without both my parents and that house at 830.

Then...there's....the driveway.  My god.  The driveway.  Anyone who is reading this and has been there knows what I'm talking about.  Lots of fun to look at and sled down.  But treacherous.  I can't count the number of times that someone like Florence Ball or my Buschia or Aunt Geri slipped/fell down it in the winter.  The closest I ever was with my Boosch was walking her to her car on Christmas Eves there.  I know that sounds strange.  But my Mom tasked with with grabbing her arm/steady-ing her as she went up/down the driveway.  I can still remember the feeling of her furs against my arm.

That driveway was also where I tried REALLY hard to learn how to play basketball.  Our hoop was crooked and not quite ten feet, but that didn't matter.  I still pounded the ball and played pretend final countdown games with myself mostly.  Real hoops games happened at the Pawlaks' or the Maas'.  I never was much of a shooter, but I sure could hustle in my basketball days.  I blame the driveway.  Crooked hoop = bad shooter.  Fear of the ball rolling all.the.way.down.the.driveway = hustler.

That driveway was also the location of my first heartbreak and real fear.  Going off to college all alone after having my family and friends as my safety net for 18 years.  I sat there and wondered what would become of things.

That driveway also was part of our daily lives.  From learning how to back the car down it (and cutting at the right angle at the right time!) to shoveling it in the winter to washing cars (and watching my dad care for his vintage T-birds) on it.   Sure...the house was where we lived.  But I still identify with the driveway.  It was a beautiful sight.  It was a struggle.  It was our lives.

So....so long, 830 Overlook Court East.  Thanks for all the fish.