Bear with me for a smidge of nostalgia

When we were first married, Squeeze and I lived on the top floor of an old duplex just west of downtown in Minneapolis. It stunk to high heaven [old and stanky, I guess] and while the Crazy Landlady downstairs and her Addict Sister were a bit trying at times,

[A "recovering" alcoholic, she bought a votive candle for each day she was sober and had them all lined up along the wall on a trim board; once, when I was down there, she told me that she was going to light up all 365 of 'em after she had been sober for one year. House fire, anyone? Another time, a terrible burning smell was wafting up from downstairs: the Crazy Landlady wasn't home, so Squeeze went downstairs to investigate (she never locked her inside or her outside door, ever). He found the stove turned to 500 degrees with a pan of smoldering dried beans at the bottom of it. Or how about the time when we first moved in? She was showing me her place and found a candle burning on her coffee table in the living room. "Oh," she said "That candle is still burning? I lit it yesterday!" My goodness. Squeeze always said it was a matter of when, not if, the place would go up in flames.]

it had beautiful woodwork, hard wood floors, a giant front porch, big windows, and our rent was only 500 dollars. She also let us paint it anything we wanted (along with buying the paint). And, my favorite part, it was only 6 blocks west of downtown and the Minneapolis Farmers' Market. We would walk there most Saturday mornings during the market season. A busride downtown took less than 3 minutes. It was a wonderful little place: I have strong feelings of affection for it.

[Many drug deals went down on our street; there was a permanent path diagonally across the lot to our right from homeless train jumpers making their way downtown (Squeeze called it the Hobo Highway); between us and downtown was 1) a scrap metal yard (which started on fire once), and 2) the City Impound Lot; rude jackasses would drag race in the middle of the night down 2nd Avenue; and once, when the Crazy Landlady was out of town, her Addict Sister holed up in her place for 4 days with a guy she met at rehab, never leaving and blaring KDWB most of the time. Why we didn't call the police, I'll never know. But I still loved it, in spite of its flaws and/or questionable activities. It was a thrilling place to live.]

But the real reason for me going on and on about our duplex (known to us as "Humboldt") is this:

Last night was especially chilly in these parts and with daylight savings, it was getting dark by the time Squeeze got home from work. I thought about Humboldt, and how we put up round globe Christmas lights along the front of our porch during the winter months. They were so pretty. Squeeze used to plug them in before I got home, so as I walked the 2 blocks from my bus stop in the dark, I could see their colorful glowing light and feel happy. [I honestly can say, they calmed me down and soothed me after being gone all day.]

And that is where my nostalgia lies: that my sweet husband plugged them in just to make me happy. And it did: I would smile the entire 2 blocks, becalmed.