a yellow stick

In San Francisco, our first house was a stick Victorian. About 25 feet wide, it was like moving into a pencil after the box-like Edwardian in Seattle. Interesting but in SF, basements rested on street level and were named the first floor.

This house had three floors. One lovely, staircase wound slightly down to the left then descended to the front door. The first floor contained the laundry area, my dad’s woodshop and my “experiment” area with the kitchen queen.

The first floor had two parlors that were separated by pocket doors. The back parlor had a fireplace in the corner to match where the fireplace was in the upstairs library. There was another fireplace in the living room where we assembled for dinner, across the hall.

Moving down the hallway towards the back of the house, one saw a small, black rubber flap situated across from the bathroom. The black flap led the cats into an outdoor litter box.

The kitchen stood guard in the back of the house. It had a lovely cafe style bar and seats to match.

On the third floor, two rooms stood guard in front of the house. Both were bedrooms but we used the German widow-less room, as the TV room. I got the hallowed room. Another bathroom in the hallway that led to the master bedroom where the sound system was located.

I loved that sound system. My dad wired his 8-track to it, our vinyl and cassette tapes were also attached. When my parents were out, I would put on the Messiah or Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. Fun times.

Unlike the Lyon Street house, which is next, a stairwell wound down on the side of the house to the ground. Not much of a garden.

It was our first house in SF. Nestled in Noe Valley, one block away from Castro, 6 houses away from the best ice cream that SF had to offer. It was beautiful and lovely.

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