This September morning is cool and grey with not too much going on in the neighborhood. No school buses, no dog walkers, only the occasional car. This view, looking out on Galusha Street (except for the blue of an August sky), hasn’t changed all that much from when my grandparents were alive and living here. Thirty plus years ago, that house was a dark green color and the Stieffenhofers, Joe and Marion, didn’t live there. They moved into the neighborhood in the early 70’s, raised two daughters here who caught the school bus on the corner of Nelson and Galusha.
They moved out here from the Park Ave area of the city which mirrors what I did in the early 80’s with my husband and our son who was three years old when we bought my grandparents house. It was spring or summer when we moved out here because I remember how lush everything looked, the neighborhood a rich, shady green of mowed lawns and carefully tended shrubbery. Despite all of the years that we have lived across the street from Joe and Marion, I didn’t learn this about them until after Marion’s death. She died on August 1, 2013 just a few days before her 74th birthday.
This September morning, the air isn’t heavy with humidity – all thanks to the thunderstorms that rolled in over the weekend. Pounding rain – fat drops of it hitting the windows – thunder and lightning punctuating the almost country quiet of this leafy, Norman Rockwell village.
This September morning feels different than summer mornings of two and three days ago; autumn is sneaking up and, if we’re not mindful of that, winter will be here much too soon.