Life was in the slow lane when I was a child. It was quieter then. Mowing the lawn required pushing...no engine noise. If We trimmed around the trees, it was done on one's hands and knees with gardening shears. There were fewer cars on the road. Hearing a car's horn was an event. usually, someone was saying hello by honking. I don't remember any honking in anger. Dad would periodically visit his relatives and take his two daughters along with him. The relatives lived in the country at various places. My favorite was Aunt Jen. She was my grandmother figure. I adored Jen. For four months of the year, she lived with us, sharing a cot in my bedroom, along with my sister. Jen lived out of a suitcase. How did she do that? She must not have had many material possessions. For another four months, she lived in Arcade New York with some relatives I never met. That leaves the best four months for Jen to live in her own house....the good weather months. Jen's house was not insulated. She lived with relatives to escape the cold and to socialize. She was a retired teacher. Mom had the bell that sat on Jen's desk. What happened to that bell? Jen's maiden name was Mohr. My uncle Marty Mohr was her brother. Dad's mom was her sister. Jen was married, but her husband died before I came along. His name was Griffith...first name unknown.
Dad would put us in the car and travel from Buffalo New York to Sandusky New York. No. Not the one in Ohio. We drove up a narrow two lane road. All day would pass and there would be no other cars on that road. We never went into the house. Dad and Jen would visit out back. Looking past the backyard, was a farmer's field with cows in it. It was so quiet. The air was clean and healthy to breathe. We didn't play games. We didn't eat or drink. We just talked and the children looked around. I loved it there. I felt my roots in my great aunt Jen. It was all ways summer with a big expanse of pasture and cows, clouds in the sky and nothing to do except to be a kid. I think I got imprinted from that experience. It became my concept of peace or peaceful living. Once I went inside the house. Everything was in its place. It was simple and orderly. Such a tiny house! No wonder my aunt spent eight months out of it. I bet she couldn't wait to get back home when the good weather came.

Jen's health broke. She ended up in a poor house at Gawanda New York. It was like a nursing home for the poor. It was awful. I hated to see her there. The residents were told to stay in bed. We now know that encourages muscle wasting. I think they put drugs in the food so no one could complain. Jen died there. I was a teenager by that time. Her memory is dear to me.

A few summers ago, a lifetime away from when Jen was alive, I decided to see if I could find her house again. I took a weekend for myself and drove to Sandusky New York. It was the size of one traffic light. There was construction on the road, now a four lane highway. Traffic was backed up. I found the house. The pasture in the back was now a housing development, full of tract houses. The land that belonged to the tiny house, was just a tiny lot. Some one built a one room addition onto Jen's house. It was hot and dusty and noisy. I couldn't stop to take a good look and enjoy my memories. Jen's house is now assaulted by noise, dust and traffic. ...such a shocking contrast to the peaceful way it was.