Memorial Respects
I made a rare visit to my hometown in New Jersey this summer with my sister Kathy. Mandatory on the agenda was a drive-by the old neighborhood on way to pay memorial respects to our beloved who once thrived there.
These are pictures of the house where we grew up in woeful state of disrepair— eerily abandoned, stacked in debris; long-left vacant, neglected and overgrown.
After decades far and away from the region with nary a drive-by, Kathy and I happened on the property the very hour a disposal truck was pulled up in the front yard. A workman was clearing the place; and kindly allowed us a quick look around.
Suddenly, our somber cemetery visits amped to the twilight zone. It was an incredible twist of epic timing and a remarkable glimpse at ages past.
Jensen Family Residence 1959 - 1989
Home with Kathy
“It is a lot smaller than I remember,” Kathy observed. Yes, it was. Sixty years ago we were a lot smaller too!
Our parents bought it in 1959. A nice-but-tight, single family box-of-home on Springfield Avenue in Pennsauken Township, Camden County, New Jersey. It would be the Jensen family domicile for three decades.
Kathy is my big sister. Kathleen Mary Jensen, by birthright, the eldest of our five Jensen siblings. Mom and Dad blessed five children in quick succession— Kathy first, then Michael, Brian , Eileen and the youngest.
For nearly 30 years, we all crammed in, grew up and loved together in that one and only heartfelt place called “home”.
We Few Souls Remain
That, of course, was a long time ago. Lifetimes ago sadly. Mom was home, in fact, when suddenly fatally stricken in 1986 at age 53. Dad sold the house a few years later; then he too died of illness shortly thereafter at age 61.
In more recent times, our brother Michael (1960 - 2018) and sister Eileen (1963 - 2014) have also passed away— all of them tragically taken far before natural time. Each were beautiful, gentle, loving souls who sacrificed tirelessly life-long and who always put family first.
Kathy, now the oldest surviving of our lot, is exactly the same way too. She and my younger brother, are possibly the only other souls left on the planet who can visualize beyond the trash — and appreciate the treasured family stories hidden deep beneath.
Visualize Beyond the Trash
Infinite joyous memories of our family’s collective warmth and goodness are secreted in the tired walls of that tiny house. These seemingly haunting snap shots capture but a few.
You just have to look past the trash:
Blessed Christmas Bannister
See the stairway bannister. That’s where each of our stockings were hung in age-old order on Christmas Eve. There is a tiny cluster of thumb tack holes on each rail where they hung; chiseled by Mom’s loving thumb, one blessed child, one blessed Christmas at a time.
Exact Space
See that burnt out vintage oven box? That’s where Mommy cooked as many Christmas turkeys! And all Jensen family feasts. Chicken casserole, meatloaf, and beef stew with dumplings were among her best specialties— in that exact space.
Colonial style. "Mommy loved those!"
And see those sullied cabinet fixtures? —colonial style; Mom’s favorite. Dad installed them. He did the kitchen tiling too. Dad was handy that way. The tiles still looked oddly respectable compared to the meager remains of his other handiwork.
Dad's brick work - cracked but standing.
See that cracked edifice behind the trash? That’s a full brick fireplace display in our basement; layered and pointed by my father. The loose brick in the top left corner served as a great key-hide in its day— 45 years or so ago.
Jensen stick-in-dirt monument over 50 years in the making - now forever gone.
See the busted-up fence? Those redwood slats are last gasp remains of a sturdy fence that ran all the way across the back of our property. It served as the main support wall for a makeshift fort that me and my buddies built circa 1971! Now just a stick-in-dirt monument — a half century in the making.
The tarnished kitchen cabinet fixture, of all things, choked up Kathy to the quick! “Mommy loved those! Kathy cried. I was teary-eyed too. But for me it was most of all about the shed.
My Father's Shed
Daddy's shed. Still standing, but not for long
See that overgrown, dilapidated structure covered with ivy? That’s the shed my father built in our backyard. He built it from scratch— the concrete foundation, framed it, the fire-board structure, painted it, shingled the roof, everything. I can’t believe it was still standing! Barely though. And not for long.
Told you my father was handy! I liked watching Dad at work too. About 49 years or so so ago, he was finishing the job, hammering in the last shingles on the roof. Dad is checking out his own handiwork, moderately satisfied.
He looks up and smiles at me. “Hmm... what do you think Bri?” Then he answers for himself: “Good enough for government work!” he quips.
Epilogue
"Good enough for government work!"
Our unexpected house tour was hurried and brief. I took these snap shots and Kathy managed to grab “our” mailbox with address monicker (not pictured) from a trash heap as we exited. It would be our only keepsake.
I drove back past the property with a friend two days later; still curious and keen perhaps to trash pick a few more memorabilia. But it was not to be. Within just 48 hours, the property was completely cleared and a new family had already moved in.
And all of our shabby remains from yesteryear are finally forever gone. No more fence remnants, or fireplace, or Christmas banister, or oven, or cabinet fixtures — and yes, even my father’s “good enough” shed, was now finally laid to rest. These snapshots—and the memories in our hearts—are all that remain.
I glanced from the street down the alley to the backyard where the shed stood- just to be sure. Yep. It was gone.
Still I hear it! My father’s voice at the shed is alive and well and crystal as ever:
“Good enough for government work!”
Yes it was Daddy. Yes it was.
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