it's not your childhood street anymore

i remember growing up on sully street...the house was white...on a corner...it was a cool house. my mom had stenciled the kitchen that when i really think about it...was barely large enough for our table for 20. the living room held a fireplace that allowed my imaginiation to run wild and many a day were spent playing school teacher using crayon on the rock. (yeah...not my brightest moment) i remember having the chicken pox and sitting looking out our huge window at my school across the street as the kids played tetherball. i remember running to the Hoopes house up the street whenever we needed anything. an egg. a cup of milk. a 1/3 cup of sugar. someone to play with. or they just didn't answer their phone...so why not just go up and say hi. forever, i felt safe there in that house at 1122 sully st.

i shared the upstairs bedroom with jj for a bit and then eventually was able to move into one of the basement rooms which immediately was turned into haven for all that was barbie or cabbage patch. it was a sanctuary. the kind of sanctuary even thieves wouldn't dare touch.

once...our house was broken into and the entire house was trashed. the kind of trashed were everything you own and hold dear is tossed to the floor and stomped on as if it has no meaning.

i remember how it shook us all to see what had happened. to walk around and have to look at that. to know that something had been stolen and how see how someone had torn every thing from the shelves and walls and closets and drawers that they could. scavengers. in search of anything and everything that could give them quick cash. dumb assess...they failed to realize the books the tossed on the floor were worth more than their mortal souls. but they settled for a CAMERA.

but my room...my room was left unscathed. i remember coming home and running to my room worried about my dolls and my items so immaculately placed...and finding...finding it exactly the way i left it. perhaps it was the innocence of the room....or perhaps someone came home and scared those dumb theives shitless so they ran like the bastards they were.

funny thing... i was never scared. even after the break in. i don't remember ever being afraid someone was coming back. i remember being upset but never afraid. ok...honestly...the only time i was really afraid at that house was the first time i was left alone at home and i locked myself in the bathroom and played stevi nicks and played barbie until my parents came home. next day...i was fine and i was fighting with mom that, NO brushing your hair everyday was NOT a necessity. (pictures from this era will not be included. ever.)

this past sunday...something was stolen from my home. something that makes me want to knock on every door on the street with a flyer and tell people how outraged I am that society allows people to steal from their neighbors yards and be ok with it. I want to tell them...i remember when you could borrow sugar from your neighbor...NOT STEAL THEIR DAMN PUSH LAWNMOWER.

yes...someone stole our mower. a push mower. our 'GO GREEN' mower. our...we're too broke to afford a real mower and even broker to pay for gas every month for a real mower. our...we saved for a month cause what we really really REALLY wanted was THIS mower. our...HOW DARE YOU mower.

part of me wants to be pissed and throw my garbage around on someone else's lawn to make up for it. and then...part of me wants to tell people...if you need it THAT BAD...then just take it. just take it. cause some day...some day, jesus will see you. and he'll tell you. you stole a PUSH MOWER........FROM SOMEONE'S YARD....yeah....we don't serve your kind here.