Sunday, January 30, 2011
When I was eleven, my parents purchased land in Draper, Utah, and began building their dream home. They had always wanted to live in a log home on a large lot where they could be surrounded my their land instead of their neighbors. We moved in during the spring of my 6th grade year, timing my parents had chosen so I would turn twelve (and enter Young Women's) in our new ward.
Our new home had three stories - a main level, an upstairs, and a walk-out basement. From the west, all three stories are above ground, making the house look unbelievably tall. In the process of building our home, the builders had allowed some of the 2nd floor ceiling beams to extend beyond the outer walls of the house, attaching a horizontal plank and creating a sort of landing or tiny deck on the exterior wall. This landing extended from just below one third-story window to the other. I'm not certain why the builders didn't remove this anomaly as they finished the house, but the makeshift landing still remains.
When we moved in, the girls became the occupants of those two third-story bedrooms. The smaller bedroom was mine, while Lisa and Michelle shared the larger bedroom. We had an adjoining wall, and our doors were only steps from each other. One would think this would have allowed ample means of communication, but one summer we decided we needed one of those string-and-styrofoam telephones.
For a short while, the string running out my bedroom door, down the hall, and into Lisa and Michelle's room was sufficient. But then the idea struck. What if we could string our telephone from window to window? That would be a truly novel means of communication! Out my third story window I went, telephone cup in hand. I walked carefully along the plank, one hand supporting myself against the house. Back in Lisa and Michelle's window, and my task was done.
Then the real telephone rang, and I was summoned downstairs to explain to my mom why she'd just gotten a phone call from Sister So-and-So wanting to know why her daughter was playing tightrope-walker. I gave my explanation, along with my insistence that I was never in any actual danger, and after what I remember as a half-hearted talking to, I was dismissed.
I think by that point in my life, my mom was used to my "creativity," and she knew I wasn't necessarily a risk taker. Still, I think of our telephone each time I see the improvised landing.
Our new home had three stories - a main level, an upstairs, and a walk-out basement. From the west, all three stories are above ground, making the house look unbelievably tall. In the process of building our home, the builders had allowed some of the 2nd floor ceiling beams to extend beyond the outer walls of the house, attaching a horizontal plank and creating a sort of landing or tiny deck on the exterior wall. This landing extended from just below one third-story window to the other. I'm not certain why the builders didn't remove this anomaly as they finished the house, but the makeshift landing still remains.
When we moved in, the girls became the occupants of those two third-story bedrooms. The smaller bedroom was mine, while Lisa and Michelle shared the larger bedroom. We had an adjoining wall, and our doors were only steps from each other. One would think this would have allowed ample means of communication, but one summer we decided we needed one of those string-and-styrofoam telephones.
For a short while, the string running out my bedroom door, down the hall, and into Lisa and Michelle's room was sufficient. But then the idea struck. What if we could string our telephone from window to window? That would be a truly novel means of communication! Out my third story window I went, telephone cup in hand. I walked carefully along the plank, one hand supporting myself against the house. Back in Lisa and Michelle's window, and my task was done.
Then the real telephone rang, and I was summoned downstairs to explain to my mom why she'd just gotten a phone call from Sister So-and-So wanting to know why her daughter was playing tightrope-walker. I gave my explanation, along with my insistence that I was never in any actual danger, and after what I remember as a half-hearted talking to, I was dismissed.
I think by that point in my life, my mom was used to my "creativity," and she knew I wasn't necessarily a risk taker. Still, I think of our telephone each time I see the improvised landing.
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