It's Not Really About My House

I grew up in Santa Monica, California. Our house was old, big and old. Very big and very old. We had a view from our house because the ground it sat on rose high above the street. And so our place had a retaining wall around it, six feet high at the front. Fourteen concrete steps came up from the sidewalk to a concrete landing.

If you turned left (west) at that landing, you would find you were on a concrete path that led past the west front of the house, and you would see the bougainvillea--a beautiful climbing vine with bright flowers. Bougainvillea covered the entire southwest corner of our house and reached the second story, near my sister Janeen's bedroom.

If you wanted to go up to the front door, you wouldn't turn left at the landing but would take the 14 wooden steps up to the porch, which porch extended from the front door around the east side of the house.

I do not intend to describe the entire house, really I don't, although I could, you know, because I loved the place.

My purpose here is to tell about the bougainvillea. It was thick and healthy, with deep, dark pink flowers. I had not seen any like it until I went to Capernaum.  There I saw "my" bougainvillea and a yellow bougainvillea, which I had never before seen or known of.

I hope you can read this plaque.

Bougainvillea, like what I knew at home.

Yellow bougainvillea

You can find out more about bougainvillea here. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bougainvillea


No doubt I'll be writing more about Capernaum. I liked it there. It's quite possible I'll write more about my house, too.