This is the street I grew up on, where my father still lives. The hills in the background are the foothills of the Catskill Mountains.
This is my father, all but hidden behind one of the many stacks created by his wife. He claims that she subscribes to entirely too many magazines and insists on keeping them all. Forever.
And this is a Rose of Sharon bush. There are many of them around the perimeter of my father's house, as there were when I was a child. I am fond of Rose of Sharon and recently bought a couple of them for my new yard. I hope they thrive the way they do around my childhood home.
The interior of my childhood home is dark, messy, and smells of cat litter boxes.
Fortunately, my new house is much more appealing. And has no odor.