In front of the yard at 135 Eustis St. Back when the fences werent chain link, but beautifully carved wrought iron. My father and brother spent a full year working on that 1850s house. Replacing pipes. Rewiring. Scouring the walls in preparation for the fresh paint and wallpaper. They would walk each day from the tenement apartment they lived in on East Lenox St. They worked through the seasons of sweltering heat, bitter cold. My mother would come each afternoon carrying food. My sister would help carry the pans. Her younger son holding her skirt as they walked along. Once there, she would set to work as well. Washing windows. Hanging curtains. Planting flowers. Finally, at the years end, my father felt the home was now habitable for his family. An immigrants dream attained.
Posted on: Wed, 10 Sep 2014 14:59:03 +0000
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