I am a day behind, sorry.
I am thankful for shared generations. Thankful for a Friday night in Mt. Adams, where my Mom grew up on Paradrome Street. Whenever we go to the Playhouse, we always stop and look at the house her Father owned. Immediately she is transported back to being a little girl. Me too, I lived there until I was 5. I can still see this little girl running in the alleyway and where Sherry H. used to live, and how I stood my ground when she stole my candy. Dale lived down the street. He was the troublemaker, and once got this 5 year old in BIG trouble when he convinced me to play a game of “I’ll show you mine…”
Standing on the hill, we talk about the general alarm March 5, 1964 Baldwin Piano Fire, that threatened downtown Cincinnati. Across the way is the Art Museum where my Grandpa worked as a maintenance man. “Did you know he had his picture in the Cincinnati Enquirer,” Mom always says. Of course I know, as I have heard it a thousand times, but never tire of it.
On the Ida Street bridge is the Pilgrim Chapel, where my Mom tells me I was baptized as a baby.
After dinner at the Mt. Adams Bar and Grill, Mom relives being a young girl going up to the bar with 50 cents and a jug to bring Grandpa back some beer. We say hi to Grandpa and hope he is still enjoying a cold one in Heaven. As we drive up to the Playhouse, I point out the tree where I had my picture taken on a horse. The hill has changed, but for Mom and me the memories have not.
