Humble beginnings should fit. Though I can not say for certain; it is likely. I would even go so far as to assume that if there have been no lavish living arrangements since I can remember then there were none before my memory began serving me.
In all actuality, my memory extends pretty far back though I have few details on my first home. Most memoratic visuals are a mash-up of pictures and detail pulled from stories and recounts of days gone by. Details which are no doubt enhanced and embellished by my own vivid imagination, then falsely fortified by my keen observance of homes and collections thereof.
No, I don’t remember my first home but I do recall my first house fire.
From what I gather, we lived in an apartment on the second or third floor. A small rather cramped place providing shelter for three generations and the majority of this group were women. The strong matriarch of the family, my grandmother Francess Brown Forney, and the constant whirlwind of aunts, uncles, cousins, and family friends of which I cannot pinpoint what portion were fixed residents and what portion were squatters or visitors.
So many details are vague, subject to interpretation. Although these memories coincide with the ‘Living days” of my mother, I am completely unable to recall a memory that incorporates her. I have no visual that I can recall.
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