I’m looking at pictures of my kids when they were younger like they just got married. Rex is near 5, Vivien 8 and my stepson is 20. Okay, with him, big difference, but it’s not like Rex still doesn’t need an overnight diaper. Yet, I’m gazing at their little pictures.
Vivien pre braces
Not sure why it’s hit me, this looking backward. I was in Inglewood this morning for a vet appointment and it hit me, “Aren’t I near Grandma’s old house?” My grandma died when I was in high school. I liked her very much and have fond memories of her ground floor apartment next to an Astro burger. No, not like having Rose Kennedy as your grandma, but we always had a great time. She would make us penny hot dogs. Hot dogs, cut up in slices. She always had a pot of Irish stew on the stove. A big stack of old computer paper that we could color on on the unused side.
I looked up Astroburger. It is still there. So was the building with the apartments that my Grandma Maxwell lived in. The neighborhood was not great 30 years ago, it looks worse now. There is a big fence in front of her building. No plants. But, otherwise, pretty much the same. I wish we had taken pictures of our time there. I only have the images in my head to go on.
You know when you get off the freeway and you see a little house or apartment, or maybe it’s next to an auto part part store, or next to Astroburger and you think, jeez, that sucks to live there. Glad I don’t live there. Well, people are living full lives in those non pinterest post worthy abodes. Kind words, good smells, and lots of crayons. Sausage legs and round faces.