When I was about ten years old, my parents purchased a larger house about two miles away on Victor Drive. In addition to an extra bedroom, the house had a dining room which was paneled in warm knotty pine and had two built-in corner china cabinets. The sun filtered through the dining room windows and reflected against the pine, casting a warm glow on the large round antique dining table. That table was the scene for so many family meals and special times...(also the scene where Sharon and I would occasionally - well, okay, frequently - get sent from the table for uncontrollable giggling.)
Okay, no comments about my bangs! They sure weren't MY idea!
There was a large back yard with trees and plenty of room for Mama's vegetable garden. Mama and Daddy planted apple, peach and pear trees for a small orchard as well. Mama was an incredible Southern cook, and with the bounty from those trees made the most delicious jams and preserves I have ever tasted to this day. Those pear preserves on one of her homemade biscuits was truly a legend.
Our move to a new home had meant changing neighborhoods, friends, schools and churches. Thankfully, this school was only .31 tenths of a mile (map quest again) and a much shorter walk to school. The fact that we moved half-way through the fourth grade made it especially difficult. As I recall, I wasn't too happy at first, especially since the class was on a totally different subject in math - one I had not had. I had gone from being a straight A student, to having serious problems in math. One day, the teacher hit my hand very hard with a ruler because I didn't know the answer to a math problem. Mama, who was barely five feet tall and very soft-spoken, had a few well-chosen, but totally appropriate, things to say to my teacher. After that, the teacher took a little extra time and patience, and my good grades returned. Honestly though, I never was fond of that particular teacher after that. Unfortunately, I had her again for two more subjects in junior high!