Night time habits

My lovely house I lived in had 2 bedrooms.  One upstairs that belonged to my parents. One down stairs..that was mine.  It had 2, deep windows & blue flower wall paper.  I don't remember being scared to be alone at the other end of the house.  But I was uneasy about my room.  It was always freezing cold despite the fact that the wall was...kid you not....3 feet thick.  It always had a breeze swirling though it & the light didn't seem right. And...I hated the blue wallpaper cause if you stared at it long enough you could see faces in it!

My bedroom was later converted to a very small dining room once the upper level was complete.  We used the room 3 times out of the year.  Thanksgiving, Christmas & Easter.  Other then that, we hated being in there.  Can you see the deep set window...yeah....3 feet thick walls...awesome! Note the haircut....why mother, WHYYY????

One night, during the winter as I was fast sleep snug in my bed....my blanket was tugged. 
Tug, tug. 
Tug, tug.
 I remember being really angry that my parents were waking me up.  Soon I was woken up by the freezing cold.  My blanket had been completely removed from my bed....and I couldn't find it.  All I remember was being so angry.  Years later my parents told me that in the dead of night, they were awoken to their little 6 year old standing at the end of their bed yelling at them.  "Where's my blanket?!  I'm cold!  Why did you wake me!"

My Mom thinking I was sleep walking...trotted me back down the dark stairs, walked down the long hallway to my room & plopped into bed.  Apparently I cried & spit 6 year old venom at my haggard mother.  "I want my blanket!"  Once I was in bed....my mother started to get mad at me....my blanket was no where to be found.  She turned on my lights to find it.  It wasn't under my bed or in my closet.  She become steamed thinking I was messing w/ her.  Up the stairs she went to grab my Dad to talk some sense into me.  Fumbling down the the dark stairs my father grumbled.  No blanket = hysterical brat.  My Dad was now on the hunt for my cozy blanket.  He looked in the bathroom, in the den, kitchen then finally he clicked on the light in the living room.

There was my queen sized thick yummy blanket, laid out perfectly in the middle of the living room floor.




Sorry for the bad copy.  Here is part of the living room.  There are the stairs in the background, THEE closet door under the stairs & the hallway entry behind us.  The floor in front of my friend & I is where blankie ended up.Do you like my sexy fine perm?



At first my parents were mad at me...then...they thought about it.  Did I truly drag my blanket out into the living room, dragging it over the huge yellow couch only to splay it neatly on the floor...then to wind up screaming at my parents in my shrill little voice in the dead of night?

That night after they brought me upstairs to sleep on their floor my mother & father decided they would work on the upstairs bedrooms the next day so they could move me out of that room as fast as they could....of course it would take them about 2 more years to make it sleep able.

And for 2 years....it become custom every now & again for me to wake up in the dead of the night & feel that tug..then sliddddd of my blanket.  It become my cue to get up, go potty then hunt for my wandering blanket.  It would hide in the den, kitchen, crumpled on the yellow couch, laid out in the living room or hallway.

This is another picture of that great yellow couch of 70's sassiness!  I just can't get enough of it!  I wish I had it today...it's just breath taking!  carry on...

I would drag it back down the hallway & plop back into bed.  I would grumble a little thinking it was my Dad playing a joke on me.  Then I would complain to him the next day about his blanket joke & how it bugged me....I never caught the panicked look in his eye...only the nervous laugh of him lying to me..."sorry kiddo...I just can't help it." 

My room with a hazy presence.

Childs play

"I really need you to stop it.  I'm having a long day.  No one can play with me, Moms shopping, my Dad is working in the yard, my brother is a jerk & I'm bored."

"No really...you need to stop scaring me, that's not nice.  I'm going to be mad at you if you don't stop."

I often found myself having conversations like this in my house off Pleasant Grove Rd.  One day I was just...not having it.  Life was unfair!  I couldn't play with my friend, my stupid brother was visiting & I was stuck...at home...AGGGHH!  So hard to be a child!

I stormed down stairs after my doofus brother kicked me out of the bathroom.  Hey, it had good acoustics & I needed to perfect Barbara Streisand's Queen Bee...just...because!  Whatever fart face!  Stomp, stomp, stomp...down the stairs.  Flinging myself down onto the yellow couch I seethed & pouted & lamented.

"Creeeeeeeeeeeeeeek."  The closet door behind me slowly opened a crack.  It never took much to have it creeeeek.  You turn the knob...creeeeeek.  A slight pull....... creeeeeek.  The sound of the door was horrible.  No matter how much my Dad WD40-ed it....it would always creeeeek! The door was a heavy solid wood door with an old glass knob.  It was to a closet that was tucked under the stairs.  Pretty cool hiding place.

Creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek open...creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek close. 
"creeeeeeeeeeek"            Stop it!
'Creeeeeeeeeeek"            I said STOP!
"Creeeeeeeeeek"            FRED!  AGGGHHHH!

I started to joke to my Dad about the ghost in the house.  He'd laugh & never take me seriously.  He told me as he ruffled my permed hair "Oh...it's just Old Fred.  Just say Hi & he'll leave you alone.  He's just lonely."    He did a fine job about teasing me...but I knew he was just messing around like Dad's do.  Little did I know...the poor guy was doing his best not to tell his daughter "yeah kid....seriously, this house is jacked up! He's watching you.  Run kid RUNNN!"

"Creeeeeeeeek"  ALRIGHT!  I'll play with you but the door has got to stop!

I heard my smelly brother stomping around upstairs yelling for me.  Something about his toothbrush...that I may or may not have rubbed on top of his nasty B.O. stick.

Sensing my own doom at the hands of my cracked out bro I dove into the closet.  The closet went all the way back under the stairs.  The space above my head just got smaller & smaller as I crawled under my Moms fur coats.  I finally wedged myself deep in the bowels of my cave.  As my brother pounded down the stairs grumbling, I watched the light fade as Fred closed the door.  "creeeeeeeeeeeeeek."

"Hey brat...you think I'm stupid!  I could hear the damn door all the way upstairs!  I know you are in there!  Come out or I'll go in after you!"

Gah!  I hate my brother!  I covered my self w/ winter shoes & scarves stored for the winter season & waited.  Doing my best not to laugh & cry.

"Fine!  I'm coming in!"

Try as he might....my brother could not open the door.  I could here him struggle & hit the door w/ his fist.  The old 50 lb door didn't budge.

"Hey twerp, the doors stuck.  You'll be in there all day by yourself!  Dad's out side & he'll never hear you scream. Have fun punk, I'm out of here!"

Exit poop head brother.

I laid under the shoes, in the pitch black slightly panicked.  All I could think about was how was I going to pee?  I had no problem hanging out in the closet, but to pee?  yeah...this would be a problem!

No sooner had I thought that...the door clicked and

Creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek

A little sliver of sunlight peeped in through the door.

I crawled out from under the tangle of hanging coats & out through the door.

My brother no where to be seen, my 9 year old life spared.

"Thanks Fred!  That was fun! I'll see you later!"

Out of the house I ran, to play with my ducks.

And somewhere in the house, I knew Fred would be waiting for me to come back & play.