Here is a group of brownstones I sketched while my son slept in the stroller and I sat on a bench in Forte Greene Park. I definitely have brownstone envy.
I've lived in Brooklyn all my life, as has most of my family. But we are part of a sad bunch that never lived in a 'real' brownstone. The house my family and I lived in was brick with awesome tar paper. What a lost medium, tar paper. So what if they get hot and fall off. They sparkle and look cool.
Our house was laid out like a brownstone on the inside, but very small. It only had 4 tiny rooms with an apartment upstairs. One of my favorite stories is when I found a gun in the basement. My mother told me it was from the last people that lived in the house. Of course I was the 5th generation to live in that house, so the last people to live there were my mother, her brother and her parents. Apparently she was trying to be diplomatic about letting me know that the gun was part of our history.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
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