The final day! This has been fun and I've enjoyed learning more about my fellow bloggers from around the world and seeing some of their childhood pics. Yesterday's combo of Lynda Young and Roland Yeomans broke all records for viewing for me - over 90 at last count. If you missed it, scroll down after you read Zan's fabulous post.
I was born in Carrollton, GA, USA where I lived my entire childhood in the same house—a house that my builder/carpenter father was always remodeling. I slept in every room at one time or another. I lived in the same, ever changing house for 21 years until I married. We met at the local university in a political science class titled “Foreign Relations.” We still laugh about the “foreign relations” between Carrollton and Temple, my husband’s hometown.
Today and finally:
Z is for Zan, (Zan Marie) from In the Shade of the Cherry Tree
|Zan at 4 years old in 1960|
My favorite home is the 90+ year old house I now share with my husband in Temple, GA. It was built in 1920 for his grandparents. I’ve only lived in three houses and this one is the one I’ve lived in the longest. We remodeled it in 1980 and it continues to take a lot of our do-it-yourself time. Thank goodness, we’re both very handy.
Built in 1920 the house was the first home in Temple to have electricity and had twelve foot ceilings that we lowered to ten to reduce the cost of heating and cooling. Even eight foot tall windows are little help with the deep, sultry heat of Georgia summers. Both Carrollton, my hometown, and Temple, John's hometown, are in the same county in the western metro Atlanta area. When we were kids it was much more rural, but now the area is definitely part of a large city's metropolitan area.
My best childhood memory is playing outdoors in the side yard under the large pecan trees. The high, dense shade shielded us from the hot summer sun. When sister, brother and I were small, we would make mud pies in tuna cans and turn them out on paper plates when they were dry. The decorations were a combination of pecan blooms and pecan shells. My brother usually played in the sand pile with his G.I. Joes and Tonka trunks. When his “crew” got tired, they would come to the kitchen of stove and refrigerator that our daddy had built for us in his woodworking shop, and “eat” mud pies.
|Zan as a teenager with her Siamese, Etcetera|
My worst childhood memory was when I get my brother his worst spanking ever. I was only seven and had just learned how to write cursive L’s. For some reason, I thought practicing the loopy letter on the sofa with a pencil was appropriate. My brother got the blame. He was five and had been carrying a ballpoint pen in his sock as a gun. Daddy was not amused by my practice and my brother got the punishment. I didn’t come clean until ten years later. My brother had a tough time forgiving me and I don’t blame him at all.
|Zan on her wedding day!|
Random fact about me: I was named for my daddy's fifth-grade girl friend. (Zan also made her own wedding dress and her husband's shirt and tie! Go Zan!)
More about Zan:
I’ve always loved words and have written since I realized that the words I love were written by someone. Poetry, prose, verse, lyric—it doesn’t matter what form or genre the words are. Words inspire, entertain, and enlighten. After teaching history and Latin for twenty-five years, I finally have the time to take delight in writing. My writing explores many wonderful forms—fiction, poetry, devotional literature, and history.
Visit Zan at her blog: www.intheshadeofthecherrytree.
That's it folks! Childhood bloggers from A - Z. I hope you've met some lovely people, learned more about those you'd already met. I really enjoyed putting this series together. I hope through the A - Z Challenge we have all made rich connections with our fellow bloggers. Thanks so much for visiting during this challenge. I've had a great time visiting so many of you!
Now, for a well-earned rest...zzzzzzzz Ah, no, no rest for the wicked as they say. I'll be busy getting RomanticFridayWriters on the road again with special blogger friend, Donna Hole!