Storytelling Thursdays
The 4Generation House (Part Two)
My computer files are filled with the stories I have written. Some are true, some are not. Some made it into books, some did not. Some are still in my head waiting to be written. Hopefully, having a story in your inbox on Thursdays will brighten your weeks as winter trudges toward spring. I will also recommend some books I have loved!
The 4Generation House (2011-2013)
This story (shared over the next few weeks) was part of a manuscript written before I began my therapy journey in 2014. It was never published but sections were included in two chapters of A Brave Life: Survival, Resilience, Faith and Hope after Childhood Trauma. Many of our most treasured—and stressful—memories occurred during those three years. I am grateful that I paused to collect the stories.
Swings Strollers and Walkers
The 4Generation House provided enough space to hold everything the moving truck and my dad’s trailer brought—with room to spare. It was certainly a bigger house than any of us ever imagined calling home. The large deck overlooking the golf course and recreation center pool provided an additional bonus.
When our granddaughter had joined our family, we had lived in a very small house my parents purchased in Colorado Springs. It was so small, we joked that when the baby arrived and we put up her swing, someone would have to move out.
In the small kitchen, we could start the dryer, get the silver- ware, and close the sliding door, all while sitting at the table. The house really was that small. Our family consisted of three adults, a sometimes-visiting son (away at college), a toddler and a soon-to-arrive baby. This precipitated one of our many moves. The baby arrived just as we finished staging the house to sell. Half of what we owned went to storage, but we still needed to live ... and the swing inevitably got in the way.
We move from the tiny house to the next more spacious house involved an explosion of swings, strollers, bouncy chairs, toys, and baby furniture. The following move to the 4Generation House (three years later) was the same except now we traded the swing for a walker—OK, two of them to be exact. When my dad’s walker arrived, it wouldn’t fit through the door to his bedroom. By this stage in our life we were frequent flyers on Craigslist, where we quickly found another walker—one that would go through the doors.
Lifting a stroller or a walker became a common task; they became symbols of our story. One day the walker got away from me and rolled to the middle of the street. Another day, I almost drove away without it. thankfully, my dad reminded me he needed it.
We didn’t need the stroller any longer (or the other walker), but things stayed long after their usefulness passed. Of course, someone could always find new uses for the no-longer-needed items—like the time our daughter dressed up for Halloween as an old woman and transported our granddaughter through the neighborhood while leaning on Grandpa’s extra walker.
A marvelous thing about the great big house with lots and lots of rooms was having two garages, one for cars—three of the four cars, and another for all the other stuff—dangerous. What we no longer used migrated into the fourth garage and vanished until our next move. We would eventually sell the swings, strollers, walkers and other things we didn’t remember owning. Moving would happen again—we knew this would be true. But for the time being, we settled into the house with plenty of room for four adults, two children, a cat, and eventually a dog—but not a duck!
Four Generations and Pets
The first generation was my dad, otherwise known as Grandpa Jenkins. He grew up on a farm in eastern Colorado, one of six boys and two sisters. His mother worked as a schoolteacher until she married, at which time school policy required that she resign. My dad met my mother when they were both attending college. She became a schoolteacher, and he was a pastor for over sixty years.
The second generation included Scott and me, now called Poppy and Mema. The third generation consisted of our adult daughter, and the fourth generation, our two grandchildren, who were eight and three, respectively, when we moved into the house.
Then there was Max, the aged cat, and eventually Jirachi, the very anxious Australian Shepherd who would play a prominent role in several of the chaotic events—usually as a result of the doorbell ringing.
The Canada Geese occupying the golf course outside my dad’s window provided delightful diversions. While they weren’t as plentiful during the final year, during the first two years they were our constant companions.
We learned a lot about geese. We expected them to migrate but learned many didn’t leave because of the availability of water and grass on suburban golf courses. Watching them shake snow off their webbed feet did make one wonder about the wisdom of their choice.
The geese honked loudly when ready to fly. It was their signal to each other and also the signal for us to get to the window and watch them rise into the air and move into formation.
And so, we lived out life as four adults, two children, a very old cat, a soon to arrive puppy and a gaggle of wild geese. Most days were almost ordinary, other days chaotic. Every day provided storytelling material.
To Be Continued
(Reprinted from A Brave Life: Survival, Resilience, Faith and Hope after Childhood Trauma)
Have you read Someday?
The other night, I once again experienced a recurring dream of finding rooms in my house that I didn’t know existed. I am sure it is the result of having far too many earthly possessions and not knowing where to store them all. In the book, Someday by Charlotte Zolotow, the young child says, “Someday I am going to walk through this very same house and find a room I’ve never found before.” Nothing delights me more than touring a house and coming across an unexpected room. The 4Generation house provided several such wonders.
This video is an unexpected delight as it is the daughter of Charlotte Zolotow who was the little girl in the book. I had not heard this background story before!