Sixty-six years ago this week, a drastic change occurred in my life. At least that’s how it seemed to me then. Over the Christmas holidays in 1950, my family, consisting of myself and two younger sisters, my mother, and my maternal grandparents moved from a farmhouse out in the country into a two story white stucco house in Old Town at the corner of Wood and Apple Streets. I was seven years old and I didn’t know whether to be scared or excited about changing to a new school. I had started school in a one room country school in the Washington School District with Ruth Garrett as my teacher. I loved her and also Thelma Prescott who taught second grade. My grandfather walked with me to that school the first couple of days and then I was left on my own to walk through a wooded area to a gravel road which took me to the school. The biggest obstacle was getting over the fence that ran between our property and a ditch that bordered a gravel road. My grandfather built a