At Sunset Ranch, my bedroom was the first one down the hall and to the right. Directly across from it was the bathroom. Mom and dad had the bedroom at the end of the hall. Ron had the one across from theirs.

My bedroom had wallpaper on one wall. It had pictures of Cowboys, some riding horses and some twirling ropes. The pattern repeated, of course, but I remember laying in my bed and thinking about the figures.

As you entered my room, I had a nice wooden dresser along the wall with the wallpaper (the south wall). I remember how upset I was when I accidentally left some silly putty on the top of my dresser. It took off the finish and left an ugly spot. My top dresser drawer was where I collected my priceless junk. It usually was crammed to overflowing. Every so often I would get busy and try to clean it out.

There was a window that faced the road to the west so I could peek out whenever someone came to visit. The window had one side that could be opened so that it pivoted outwards. If I needed to, I could open it and jump out, as long as mom and dad didn't catch me. From the window I could see the mailbox, the weeping willow tree and the bushes in the border. One time I heard some shouting in the living room and I was so scared that I climbed to my window, opened it and got ready to jump. I felt silly when I found out that it was my dad yelling that a yellow jacket was crawling along the top of his newspaper!

My bed set parallel to the window, with the head of the bed on the north wall. I was small enough that I could lie in my bed, and by sucking in my stomach, no one could tell that I was lying there. I really surprised mom one time when I jumped out at her when she came in the room!

My desk sat against the north wall some of the time. At other times, it was against the south wall. That's where I had my typewriter. I spent hours cursing at myself when I made mistakes while trying to type a report. Erasing my mistakes was time consuming, and it drove me crazy when I transposed letters. I would spit out the spelling of the misspelled word, criticizing myself for doing it wrong. The youth today have no idea how lucky they are to deal only with electronic corrections!

I don't remember if there was a closet or not. There must have been, but I can't picture it.

We had forced air oil heat. My heat register was against the wall just under the window. I remember taking a blanket and huddling over the heater when I was sick. It felt so good to have the hot air trapped in a small cave of my own.

At other times I would squeeze under my bed. I could hide little papers under one of the three slats that supported the bedsprings. The boards could be moved about, but care had to be taken not to push them too far or else they would fall down. It hurt if they hit my head. Besides, they made a lot of noise clanking onto the floor.

When we moved to Eastgate, my bedroom was the first one on the left down the hall. It was on the west side of the house. I don't remember many specifics about that room. I suppose it is significant that when I would get sick to my stomach that I would open the window and cast my stomach contents into the bushes. The overflow stained the wood down the outside of the house. My dad was rather upset at me for being so foolish.

I could rig rubber bands to the handle of the door and stretch them to the light switch next to the door. When the door would be opened, it would stretch the rubber bands and turn off the light. It was like an early warning signal to me that someone was coming in and it startled them when the room went pitch-black upon their entry!

I started writing my first personal diary while at that house. The first entry was made while I kneeled on the floor and used the bed for a desk. The floor was apparently of hardwood, because I remember doing a mathematical experiment by dropping matchsticks and seeing whether or not they fell across a crack.

When we built the Pine Lake house, both Ron and I got to work on our own rooms. We had visions of putting recessed TVs in the walls, but that became impractical. We did have an intercom and radio system to each room.

My bedroom at Pine Lake was the first one down the hall on the right. Again it was across from the bathroom. The bedroom closet was on the north wall, behind the door as you came in. There was a window on the east side opposite the door. The floor was covered wall to wall with a bright red-orange shag rug. The ceiling was textured, and it had little shiny stars in it. I spent a lot of time laying on my bed and staring at the stars.

I had various arrangements of my furniture, but I remember especially often that I had my bed parallel to the window with the head of the bed against the south wall. My desk was also against that wall. On my desk I had my Sears Electric typewriter. I typed dozens of reports on that typewriter. And I finally used correction tape or correction paper. No more erasing! I also had a drawing board on my desk and a T-square. I did my drawing and artwork there. It was also useful for cutting silk-screen stencils from lacquer film. It was tedious work and frustrating when I had to redo it when I ruined putting the stencil on the silk-screen.

I had a cork bulletin board in front of my desk. I pinned up all kinds of things there. I also mounted a lot of pennants that I collected. Most were pennants from places where we had visited on our various vacations.

My dresser was between the closet and the window. The window had screens, so there was no way to climb out. Even without a screen, it was a two-story drop to the ground below. It would not be a fun landing if that became my exit.

We had recessed lighting throughout many of the rooms in the house. The lights were set in a box-like trough along the west wall of the room. Inside we had about eight light bulbs that were controlled by a dimmer switch. It was nice to be able to dim the lights.

The bedroom was my place of retreat. Whenever I would get upset or in an argument, I would go to my room, close the door, and begin to clean things up. Somehow it helped to do cleaning. In retrospect, activity was my escape from having to face my problems. Although I have not overcome this tendency, I am aware of it today and am working to face issues rather than to run away.