I failed to mention on the previous week of posts about certain houses and some interesting memories, not so good really. First is the Knoxville House where sweet Myrtle one evening ran to our house beating on the door screaming, "Dave shot Phyllis, Dave shot Phyllis." The Hubby wasn't home and I was panicked by this. It was a terrible story and I was very young, 22 years old and never, NEVER had been a part of something like it. Her niece was shot point blank by her husband during a domestic thing. She had gone to pick up some stuff with two police officers on either side of her and as they walked down the sidewalk to the car he came out of the house and shot her dead. I did not know Phyllis or Dave but I knew Myrtle and I was devastated. Definitely marked my memories.
The second home, The 58th Street Home had a story after we moved. The people who bought the house were, shall we say a bit weird, a LOT weird. There was a husband, wife and a grown son who lived with them. They were all on all kinds of medication for various things and none worked, they were all on disability for mental somethings. Well, the pool caused problems because they did not know how to take care of it and were calling The Hubby every year to help them take care of closing and opening and being the kind guy he is, he helped for a couple of years. Then, one year they called to inform us that their adult son committed suicide in his chair in front of the fireplace (it wasn't pretty). Great, that is where The Hubby's chair sat with the girls in his lap watching television. GREAT, just great. We could have done without that picture in our heads. The pool has since been filled in and my wonderful flowerbeds are all gone and I've left that house far, far behind.
The Double 07 house came with the memories that are a bit terrifying to A and her memories. It wasn't the house but the neighborhood. Around the corner was a house that my child had been to play with the little girl that lived there. They were in the same class in elementary school. One day (Oct 19, 19970 I got a phone call at the office from the older girl B to inform me of a tragedy at the house. The father, Ron Fluke carried out a heinous crime in that house to which he was eventually executed. I won't go into it but you can read a brief thing about it clicking his name. It traumatized my daughter who could not understand how a father could do something like that to a daughter. Her friend Kathryn was gone. How do you explain something like that to an 11 year old.
Hopefully, in our new house we won't ever have these kind of tragedies to deal with.