It's funny how memories pop up.
My dad's parents lived in Marquette, Michigan when I was very young. For some reason, some memories of that place came to mind. I'm just going to jot some of them down.
The front door had a storm door that opened the opposite way from the main door. That is, the storm door swung to the left but the house door to the right. The storm door also had a device that would either hold it open or allowed it to slowly close. I once got the pinky finger on my right hand caught in the door when it closed. Looking back at that moment, I'm surprised it didn't break my finger.
Since we lived in central Illinois, we didn't see my grandparents but once or twice each year. Normally, we drove there in July. There was one time we went and my grandparents had some sparklers. My siblings and I ran around in the back yard one night, swinging our arms around to watch the light and colors of the sparklers. I then tripped on the anchor used to hold the leash for the dog, Lady, so she couldn't leave the yard. When I fell, my face fell onto the sparkler and burned my face on the right side near my lips.
On a happier note, I remember once sleeping with my grandparents. When I awoke in the morning, I remember grandma picking me up and setting me onto the floor. As she turned, rolling on the bed, I reached out and grabbed her hair. I still don't know why I did that.
Just off the kitchen and, I think, in front of the back door, there was a chalk board. Once, my sister and I drew pictures on it. They were silly pictures. She drew stick figures of me with either a huge body and tiny head or vice versa.
I find it interesting that when I focus on memories and places like I am now, I remember more and more things. I like these strolls down memory lane.
