“W. Heathwood Dr. SE” is what I saw when I realized we were almost home. In my opinion my street was the prettiest in the neighborhood. Immediately, when you pulled in, you drove beneath massive trees perfectly placed in three flawless rows forming a welcoming boulevard. I can’t recall the first time I had ever seen this place for the reason that I was only a little girl when first we moved in. My family and I came from New York, although most of my childhood memories come from this particular place. As you would drive around the last turn in the road you could see a stunning tan two-story house with blue shutters and a dark blue door. The front featured five windows on the second floor. Two of them were my room and the other three were my parents. My sisters shared a room that faced the back yard, mostly because I enjoyed having the outside streetlight shining into my room at night. To this day I hate the dark. We had a white porch with four large pillars that my mom always kept decorated with fake flowers, since she killed all the real ones. Our home had a beautiful yard that was relatively large, considering we were in a development. A massive pine tree stood on the left side of our home; it would always create a perfectly shaded retreat on those hot Michigan summer days. My favorite part of the yard was the tree by the garage. In the spring it blossomed soft pink and white flowers adding their unique colors to the tan home positioned nearby. Lastly we had a terrific back yard with two steep hills on each side of the house. Our hills were soon to become the hot spot for sledding in the neighborhood during those lengthy Michigan winters. When you stepped through the front door you were immediately greeted by the smell of potpourri. If you looked to the left you would see a formal living room with a forest green velvet antique Tennessee couch. We were never allowed to play in the room as it had so many “pretties.” One item, however, we were allowed to touch was our stunning antique baby grand. To this day I will always miss hearing my dad play and sing from his spot at the piano. If you looked to the right, often you’d see my dad hard at work in his office.
Next was our kitchen. We had a big island countertop in the middle. I can remember carving pumpkins, painting, dancing on it with my friends, and so many other memory creating things. Ironically, I cannot recall actually eating on it like it was originally constructed for.
Finally, our “informal” living room was the