The big, old house where my family lived the first nine years of my life had previously been the home and office of a doctor.
His examination room became my bedroom.
In my bedroom on Christmas night with my new doll baby and festive clown pajamas that I received from Santa.
It was a big room and I liked it that it was in the center of the house — next to Mama and Daddy’s room (that, btw, had been the doctor’s waiting room), and close to the bathroom and the stairs that everyone else sleeping upstairs had to come down — I never felt alone. Important to a little girl in a big room by herself.
I don’t remember ever questioning that my room had a sink in it. Maybe that is because the only times the sink was actually used was when Mama and my sister Martha Lou experimented with developing their own pictures a couple times and made my room a temporary “dark room” and used the sink for the processing. Other than that, it was just ignored.
I wish I could now go back and look at that house with adult eyes. I realize now that it had some very unique features like that sink.
I guess it’s fortunate that when that was my bedroom, I was too young for it to occur to me all the interesting things that had probably taken place in that very room like births, surgeries and even deaths. That’s a good thing because I think thoughts like that, especially of deaths, might have kept me from sleeping peacefully.