Mount Street Mama, take me home

To your left, a picture of the "power cut" next to the house I grew up in.

Unfortunately, neither Lizzie nor my childhood homes are still in the possession of our families. (And Lizzie’s little 4-room house was knocked down and replaced with a McMansion). This makes things awkward when our rather large contingent of fans makes their pilgrimage to our youthful abodes, and the current owners are like “We’ve already called the police.” However, the farm Lizzie’s Grandparents owned, which is just a mile down the road, was foreclosed on by the bank back in the mid-eighties, and has yet to be sold. Hooray for trespassing!

The farmhouse burned down a long time ago (accursed hobos) but the lilac bush her parents used to have babysit her is still beautiful, and the remains of the chicken coop loom ominously, and legend has it that chicken ghosts still haunt it TILL THIS VERY DAY.

(IF YOU ARE MY DAD AND ARE READING THIS, STOP HERE, WATCH THIS YOUTUBE VIDEO AND THEN SKIP TO ***)

I asked Lizzie if she’d ever considered buying the property back, and she joked, “Hmm. Perhaps I could buy it and build a sex toy shop encased in a giant glass dildo you can see from the highway.” (CAUSE YOU KNOW, 'MERICA!!!!!)

And can you think of a better tribute to your family?

We discussed the logistics of the giant dildo building as we circled the property, Lizzie pausing every once in a while to tell me tales about almost getting trampled by one horse, and feeding another until it was too fat too ride. She told me the tale of when her father threw her uncle through a picture window, and another amazing story about how her grandfather went from being an undertaker to a being a farmer, which maybe involved transporting a dead body in a horse-drawn hearse which then actually turned out to be not-so-dead. The angry “dead” guy got out of the casket, and punched Lizzie’s Grandfather in the face, who then was like “PERHAPS IT IS TIME FOR A CAREER CHANGE.” (By the way, we decided that the giant dildo should be lit with fiber optics so it could change colors)

***On the way back, we noted that we had not been the only trespassers (teenagers probably drink up here all the time) as we spotted footprints which could only belong to a giant. I assume he tends to the chickens. My dainty lady foot is not match for Stompy McGhostChickenFeeder.