One Sixty Five Hemlock Place

I’m trying to recall the days of dress-up and homemade salsa. The days where we would swim in a well-maintained pool for hours on end, and re-emerge only when convinced our fingers couldn’t look any more like dried prunes. This pool was situated in my grandparents’ backyard; it was a place that my dad’s whole side of the family could take refuge, and be comfortable in calling “home”. It didn’t matter where my extended family was currently living... they came from all over Chicago, Australia, Ottawa, Toronto, New Zealand, and Alberta. Yet they would all agree that they felt most at home on 165 Hemlock Place.
It was a scene of cousin sleepovers, which included popped corn, ripple chips, and banana sundaes. We went to the park, watched movies, and talked well into the night. The cousins would fall asleep between ten at night and two in the morning – all depending on what time zone we were coming from. In the morning some of us would pick fresh raspberries to add to our porridge. My grandpa was head chef when it came to making breakfast. He was also the one that was forever cleaning the pool, fixing scooters, and teaching his grandchildren how to skate. Grandpa was probably the handiest man to have around.

165 Hemlock was also a place of celebration. There was never any question as to where the family would eat Easter dinner or celebrate New Years. The most vivid memory or these occasions is Christmas. My grandma made a wicked Caesar salad; you could smell the garlic as you pulled in the driveway. After a fabulous supper of turkey, dressing, cabbage rolls, garlic mashed potatoes, and cranberry juice, we would all gather in the living room. There was hardly enough in the way of seating! Sitting on the lap of a favourite aunt, the entire family would sing the classic carols until there were none left to sing.
This was Santa’s cue. My grandpa would come in through the front door wearing a big red suit and an elastic beard. He would reach into his big black bag, pull out a gift, and call the lucky contestant onto his lap. After Santa left, and Grandpa magically reappeared, we would open the rest of the presents. The night would end with everyone moving furniture to accommodate the family for our annual photo.
Salsa and tea parties will always live in the grandchildren who were victims of this experience. And we will probably miss it forever.