We started our day off with a detour yesterday.
Leaving the house with plenty of time to get from Minnetonka to Chaska, Kim wanted to know if I could find the house where I lived during the first few years of my elementary school years.
I may not remember the name of all of the side streets and cross roads, but my heart knew the way.
Turn past the swampy little pond on the right – the one covered with the lily pads. The one where I wanted to collect little snail shells. The one where I first found a salamander, and wanting to keep it safe as a pet, put it in my little purse, hid it in my closet and forgot about it – only to be discovered later by my mom as she searched to find out just WHERE that smell was coming from.
Go further up the street. No, not that one, but I can tell we are getting closer.
And there. That’s it. That’s the one. My house. “The BROWN house” as we have always referred to it as. For 50 years in my memory, it’s always been the BROWN house.
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