A Grandpa Story from Isabelle Avenue

For those of you new to my blog, I am also writing a memoir about growing up in Las Vegas. Sometimes I try to be funny, sometimes I just write what I remember. This time I wrote about my Grandpa teaching me to ride a bike.

The King of Isabelle Avenue

On my 6th birthday I got my first bike. It was purple and had training wheels. It was a classic 20″ girls Schwinn. That bike meant freedom to me.
I was not allowed to cross the street to play in a neighbor’s lawn without Mom’s permission. I was not allowed to go next door to see if Susan Cunningham could play unless Mom said it was OK. I was not allowed to ride on the asphalt of Isabelle Avenue until I could ride without training wheels. Once I could ride that bike, the asphalt that lay between me and the rest of humanity, as I saw it, would disappear. Riding in the street and crossing the street would be the same thing. Riding on Isabelle Avenue would lead to riding on 21st Street, and that would lead to riding on Ogden, and then Cervantes where my pal Connie lived. In…

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4 thoughts on “A Grandpa Story from Isabelle Avenue

  1. I’m not new to blogging (I started mine about a year and a half ago) but I’m just now finally starting to look around at what others do. I’m fascinated by the combination of your pictures (I really like your recent-close ups) and stories. And by the way, amazing house! I haven’t read further into your site yet and haven’t come across anything about it- what is the history behind it? Is it an old place or more recently built?

    • The Stone House? My place is an old house built in 1923 from a plan purchased from a magazine. It was the “California Bungalow of the Year” and the idea was to sell kits and plans. It’s a bit of an oddity in the Ozarks – a California Bungalow.

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