The House on 66 Houlahan Street

There is a house in a neighborhood called Barrhaven. It’s a quiet two-story house, in an equally quiet neighborhood. And if you look close enough, you’ll read the number 66 on the top right corner of the garage door. That used to be my house, my 66 Houlahan Street.

Throughout the years I've lived in quite a few different houses and places. Some of which I remember, some of which I don’t, some of which I've lived in for longer periods of time than others, but I guess in the end we tend to remember the house we grew up in, the house that we had our first memories in. And for me, it was the house on 66 Houlahan Street.

The reason I’m remembering is because my parents are currently with my younger brother in Canada. They traveled for his graduation. I’d obviously loved to have gone with them, but I had classes, projects, and exams due, the last of which I finished just last night. So while they were there, on the other side of the world, they took a road trip to Ottawa, and they passed by our old house and they sent me this picture:

My entire heart smiled at the sight of that house, with its front door and porch, bright green grass lawn, evergreen pine tree, and wooden fence around the backyard. I could tell you of the smallest things I remember, like accidentally dropping a loonie underneath the front patio when I was little, and almost crying that I couldn't get it out so Dad gave me another one. Or like the lemonade stand I set up at the end of the lawn in an attempt to collect money to buy a Kitty Kitty Kitten from Toys’R’Us for $29.99. I remember that sweet moment when I made my last dollar, and how excited I was for Dad to come home from work so he could take me to go buy it. I still have it in my room today. Now imagine the entire lawn covered in snow, and how my little brother and I would put on our snow suits and build snow men and snow forts, and throw snow balls at each other. Of course, I was always tougher than him, and I usually managed to make him cry!

I also remember my next-door neighbor and first friend, Amanda. I remember when she and her family had moved in right after we had, and Dad made me go outside and introduce myself. We instantly became friends. It’s been a long, long time since I've heard from her and I’m not sure if she even lives there anymore. But I’ll never forget her as being one of my very first best friends.

Oh, I could go on and on about this house, all the way up until the day it broke my heart to see we had hung our “For Sale” sign at the end of the driveway…

Looking back, all I remember are the sweet childhood memories I had here. It feels so nostalgic, looking back at your old house and the street and neighborhood you used to live in. Especially knowing that a new family is living in your old house now, and that new faces fill your old neighbors’ houses, and new shops and establishments have popped up in the once quiet neighborhood (they've told me it’s grown so much!).

But no matter how many thousands of miles away I may be, I’ll always have a soft spot for this place. So God Bless this house and the people in it, in 66 Houlahan Street. It’s my favorite house in the whole wild world… :-)

All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go ...

It's Time! Yalla, Bye-Bye Lebanon, see you after 2 weeks! :-)
Let the Canadian adventure begin!!! :-D

The House That Built Me

I was reading back on music reviews from the past year, and I noticed there were a lot of good songs I missed out on, like the hilarious “Fuck You” for Cee Lo Green and a couple of smash hits for Bruno Mars, who has just made it to one of my top artists of all time. But one of the songs that caught my attention most, even before listening to it, was titled “The House That Built Me” for country singer, Miranda Lambert…

When I watched the video, I couldn’t help but think back to our old house in Barrhaven, Ottawa. I’ve got a couple of old snapshots for us in the house, but not as many as I’d like. The time before the last time we went to Canada was in 2006, and while we were driving in Ottawa, I asked Dad to take us to our old house in the neighborhood. There was a Range Rover parked out front, and there was a sting in my heart at the sight of our old house being lived in by somebody else…

I wished more than anything that I could go up and knock at the door, for them to open and let me in. Unfortunately, all I’ve got from those times are beautiful childhood memories. I wasn’t that young when we left, as I remember the bedroom I shared with my little brother, the guestroom I turned into my bedroom when I grew a little older, the stairs, the kitchen, the dining room where I first learned to use the computer and played computer games like Monster Bash and Duke Nukem, the living room, the basement, the storeroom, the bathrooms, the pine tree in the front yard (I loved it because as the seasons changed, it stayed evergreen while our neighbors’ trees’ leaves fell during the winter), and the beautiful backyard around which we put up a fence, set up a slide and swing set, planted an apple tree, caught grasshoppers, and played ball…

I could go on and on and I'll always smile at the house I’ll always love the most, the house that built me… :-)