‘Going down Memory Lane. Literally.’

Their Haight-Ashbury dwelling bursting at the seams with the addition of another objectively adorable baby, The Child and the SIL recently moved house. Which means that, so far, as a couple, they have lived in four different places.

Not counting the almost-year during Covid when they lived in this camper van (!)

This got me thinking about all the different places I’ve lived. I’ll start at the very beginning — because, as we all know from The Sound of Music, it’s a very good place to start.

I was born in Champaign (I love saying that out loud) where my Dad was getting his engineering degree at the University of Illinois. I’m pretty sure that, at the time, they were living in a room above a garage. There is additional family lore that my bed was a dresser drawer. Alas, there is no photographic evidence. (And, *sigh*, there is no one left to ask. See “Holidays on Edge” for bittersweet deets.)

This could be at the dresser-drawer place or, more likely due to my size, at “Vine Grove, Tuckey” (which is how I adorably lisped it)

But I do have a picture of my next residence. That’s it at the top of this post. The photo was in a batch sent to me by my Favorite Only Sister; written on the back in Mom’s handwriting is “Vine Grove, Kentucky.” This is where we lived while my Dad was stationed at Fort Knox. (He was in the Air Force.)

Chilling on the porch at Gramma’s house during my full-time tenure there

I don’t remember anything about that place, but I do remember where I lived next, because it was my Gramma Peterson’s house. We stayed there while my Dad was stationed in Korea. (How he got sent there is a pretty good story — involving secret papers and handcuffs — you can check it out at “Kissing Daddy Goodnight.”)

Mom (stage right) and me with the whole Peterson Crew: Gramma, Grampa, and my Aunt Marilyn, who was in high school and, of course, still living at home

After my Dad got back (in one piece, thank goodness) we moved back to Champaign and lived in a little bungalow in sort of a compound where a bunch of other glamorous-looking young married people had bungalows too. Everybody had little kids. I remember running in a pack following this guy Casey on his great big riding lawn mower. Heady stuff when you’re, say, four.

Mom and some of her many equally-glam friends

My parents had just built a little house — I remember it was painted blue — when my Dad’s company transferred him to Memphis. My mother was so unhappy. She told me that, during this period, she had absolutely no friends. Sorry if you’re from Memphis, but she said people were “friendly, but not your real friends.” Also, she got mistaken for a stripper. (Which, BTW, is an excellent story: “My Mom, the ‘Party Girl.'”)

Me in Memphis with the Cat that Never Had a Proper Name. We just called him “Kitty.” Oh — I have never been mistaken for a stripper *sigh*

Actually, I rather enjoyed the Memphis Years. I started school there, which is always a big deal, and had some cool adventures. Like, Elvis Presley called me a “cute little girl.” (Yup. You can read about that, too, in “The King and I”.) We lived in three places in Memphis: the big house near the college where we had a couple of college-boy renters, a ranch house somewhere where one of the college boys continued to live with us .(He roomed with my Middle Brother Roger, explained in “That’s My Bob”.) And, finally, we lived in a rambling place ever-after known as The House on The Lake. This place was memorable. My Mom found a snake behind the washing machine and another time a mouse ran up my brother’s pant leg.

All three extant Henry Kids gussied up for Easter outside the House on the Lake

This takes us up to 1960, when we moved to Carlyle, Illinois. This is where my Favorite Younger Sister and Youngest Younger Brother were born and where my family lived for the next — gasp — 47 years. The Carlyle Years surely deserve a post all their own.

Soon.

Amagansett, New York. August 2026.