Memories. Memories, growing up, playing in the basement as kids on islands of carpet because the new house basement had not quite been carpeted yet. Playing with the toys we were given, making up stories, using our imaginations, letting them soar and making up stories of schools, of farms, everything. Content in our little area. Adults upstairs, talking, cooking breakfast in the mornings, relaxing in the evenings. For Carstairs was our house, our place to go to, to meet family, cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents. It was our vacation house, be it summer or winter. It was ours. The one place where everything was at a standstill, and we left our worries and cares behind. Tons of memories sifting away inside of that house, on that farm, around the whole town. It will always hold a special place in my heart. Even now, every now and then that we are all older and have gone our separate ways, every now and then we have a gathering there, and memories once again flourish, even if only for a short time, and now, we are adults, no longer the little children we once were. You will always hold a dear place in my heart. ❤


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