Memories of my home.

Today I received a beautiful book from a friend. Memento by Michael McQueen. It is a journal of a slightly different kind, in that it guides you with questions about your life. The idea is to leave a legacy of the life you lived, for future generations to learn. I thought that I would use this blog as a way to work through some of the questions in the book before fixing them permanently. Hopefully, I will have more to learn, and more life experiences to add in the coming years, than I do just yet. The first questions though, are about my early childhood experiences. I mentioned to my siblings recently, that I wished we could compile the stories we seem to retell at each Christmas dinner, so that someone would remember them to tell my kids when my memory or health fails me. I guess this is how the universe is prompting me to make a start.
The house I remember growing up in was in Shailer Park, south of Brisbane. I can actually remember house hunting, and looking at a house in the next street over. I would have been about 4, as we moved when my sister was born. I have only vague memories of the houses before. The Algester house, which had no screens on the windows, so we could climb out. I've wanted to be able to do that in every house since. I can remember sneaking "pink quick" out of the kitchen cabinets in that house and eating it out of my tea set. There was a boy in the street who I liked to play with but I don't think I was allowed. I believe mum said it was to do with the fact that there were train lines at the end of the street that my brother and sister used to play near. My sister was born while we lived here, and when we moved I lost a toothbrush toy. I wanted to stay and look for the toy a little longer, but never found it. On the morning that we moved I remember eating my breakfast at the table while everything around me was moved. I used to have a clear memory of my thoughts at that time, but I have lost it. I don't know where this next house wa,s but it was a two storey that backed onto a cemetary. While that sounds morbid to some, I never thought anything of it. We even watched a funeral once. My sister told me you died when you went to your own funeral, an idea she probably came up with after we saw someone pass out. Our guinea pigs used to run under the fence sometimes and had to be caught by my sister or brother. I mostly remember playing with a dark-haired older girl who lived next door. She had a cockatoo and a strange plant whose leaves moved when you touched them. One time when she babysat us, I remember staring at the roof and being able to make out images like watching a tv, I think I thought it was playschool. We were in the room my sister and I shared. My dad told me later that that girl died when she was hit by a car. One other house I remember was a timber house with chooks living under it. I remember a half door in one of the rooms, and the kittens we kept under the house for a while. I remember a kitten was found dead under the straw with flies around it, and it was assumed I had done it. I certainly don't remember ever having killed and buried a kitten, but being blamed is my strongest memory of that house.
Back to the house of my school years. My parents still live there. It is a two storey house built of brick. When we moved in the street was still pretty empty and the block was pretty bare. I'm not sure it even had a fence. While I originally shared a room with my older sister. I really only remember sharing with my younger. We had a bunk bed and holly hobby bedding. The walls were a horrid wallpaper of striped orange, white, brown and green. Very retro. My dad divided the large rumpus room downstairs to make a bedroom for my brother. Over the years the garden has crept over the house and now almost hides it from the street. A pool was added at some point to replace the trampoline's pride of place. The back verandah was built by my dad, as well as the paved area out the back. He was pretty handy actually. I thought our house was pretty good, especially the garden. The place was always covered in pixie photos, still is actually. We always had chooks that I can remember, down the back corner of the yard. Once the trees had started growing well in the back yard, I used to love climbing them all and staying up there for hours. I always wanted a tree house, and used to take snacks up there for little picnics. Me and my younger sister spent many hours jumping around the trampoline, imagining our futures until the sun went down, and we were called in for dinner. When my brother travelled overseas, I was given his room and used to hide away in there most of the time that I was home. It's the room I probably most associate with my own, but now it's my fathers room. I wonder how my memories of the house are different to those that impacted my siblings?