Visit to Mom’s House
For the past eight years my mother has lived in the City of Chicago. The neighborhood is called the Ukrainian Village, which is about six miles west of downtown Chicago, about ten minutes of driving. Her apartment is located just two blocks away from Saint Mary of Nazareth Hospital and one block south from busy Division Street, a block west from Western Ave. She lives on a small street with huge trees beside the sidewalks. It’s a newer building compared to other houses on the block, the second house on the block. Every couple of weeks I visit my mom. I live in the west suburbs of Chicago, so I have to take I-290 and drive at least thirty minutes to get there. From I-290 I take the exit to Western Ave and always enjoying watching how the City of Chicago, and especially that area, is getting renewed with newer apartment buildings and new local stores. I have to park the car on the street as there is no guest parking space available at my mom’s building. She lives on the second floor in a house with a white stone front and huge windows. There is a gray metal fence around the building with a gate which sounds creaky once you open it. At the front door, I have to use the black button to ring the doorbell and then I can hear her voice through the dynamic of the intercom, “Who’s there?” the voice sounds raucous. She opens the door and there is always this “zzzzzzz” sound means the lock is released and the door can be opened. I’m going up to the second floor through a white hallway with gray carpet on the floor. The next moment I’m in warm hugs from my mom who always smells of nice perfume and usually wears a red kitchen apron to prepare for my visit. My mom has blond hair and blue eyes and is about five and half feet tall. At first we would go to the office to go over bills and mail which she collects within a couple of weeks. It’s already kind of routine and my responsibility to help her with letters written in English. The office is a...
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