26 Fairmount Avenue (8 page)

E
verything was crazy. Mom and Dad were packing boxes, packing clothes, running around, saying, “Don't forget the clock” and “Which box does this go in?”

“Here we are, Floss and Joe,” some neighbors said, coming in the front door. “Tell us what to do.”

“Hi, boys,” Uncle Charles called as he drove up in his car. “Ready to go?”

We were going down to Wallingford for the day so we wouldn't be in the way. We were moving—actually moving. I wanted to help; I wanted to see everything. “But think what a big surprise it will be to see your new house all fixed up,” Mrs. Crane said to me. Well, maybe she was right.

And I could see that Mom and Dad had a lot to do. Spending the day with Uncle Charles and Mickey Lynch was great. Uncle Charles bought us comic books. We visited Cousin Mabel and her husband, Cousin Bill Powers. We visited Aunt Nell. She made us sandwiches, and tea with sugar and milk for lunch. “Is it time to go yet?” I asked when we finished eating.

“Not yet,” Uncle Charles said.

We went across the street to Tom and Nana's grocery store and spent the afternoon helping them. I put cans of food up on the shelves.

“Now can we go?” I asked. It was beginning to get dark.

“Soon,” Uncle Charles told me. “First we're going to have supper.”

At Tom and Nana's house we sat in the kitchen, eating at the big kitchen table. It was covered with an oilcloth tablecloth that had pineapples and other fruit on it.

“When can we go?” I asked.

“When your mom calls,” Tom said.

Tom read me one of my comic books, and I played with the special wooden blocks that were kept in the sewing room.

Tom, Buddy, Uncle Charles, and I played Chinese Checkers. It was already dark outside.

The telephone rang. I jumped up.

“All right,” Nana said. “I'll send them on their way.”

Buddy and I ran out to Uncle Charles's car. We picked up his girlfriend, Viva, and Mickey Lynch. And we were on our way.

Through Yalesville, through Tracy, through South Meriden, onto Hanover Street. We turned up Highland Avenue. We drove up the long hill and turned right onto Fairmount Avenue.

The lights were on by the front door of our house. We climbed the makeshift stairs (the real stairs wouldn't be ready until spring).

There on the wall beside the door was a black metal cutout of a tree branch with the silhouette of a squirrel sitting on it. At the end of the branch was the number 26.

“Go ahead,” Uncle Charles told me. “Push the doorbell.” I did.

I heard chimes ring.

The door opened. There was Dad. There was Mom. “Welcome home,” they called. “Here's your new house.”

I ran in. I ran up the stairs; I ran into my bedroom. There were two brand-new beds, two brand-new dressers, and on the wall a mirror that looked like a ship's wheel. The beds were turned down, and there on the bed nearer the door were my pajamas. It was my bed. It was my room. It was my new house. It was my wonderful home—26 Fairmount Avenue.

 

 

 

The End
(for the time being)

Over the years, letters from my young readers have increasingly asked, “When are you going to write a chapter book?” But the idea seemed daunting.

Then one day, my long-time assistant, Bob Hechtel, said, “I have an idea for a chapter book for you—in fact, for a series of chapter books. Why don't you write about all the things that you talk about from your childhood, but can't put into a single picture book.” DING—the bell went off—the light bulb lit. “That's it!” I said.

Then the work began. It wasn't hard for me to conjure up all the clear memories I have (and have had for years) of my immediate family and all the friends—and “characters” that surrounded me during my growing up years. Those memories were also re-inforced by hours of home movies that my father and mother took—from little one-year-old Tomie all the way up to movies of me and my dancing partner, Carol Morrissey, with various family/friend outings and siblings along the way.

The real work was to suddenly expand my writing after years of being economical which is essential for my picture books. But I started and with the support of my (also long-time) friend and editor, Margaret Frith, I wrote in an almost stream of consciousness style. Margaret then helped me to organize all the material into this first book. Yes, there will be more. After all, my sisters haven't been born yet, the Second World War hasn't started... enough. Meanwhile, I hope you'll enjoy sharing more of my early life with me, meeting lots of family and other old friends.