Home Is Where Your Heart Is, Wherever You Live
I was blessed to have been raised in many beautiful homes.
I grew up in Rochester, New York, on Erie Street in a humble, red-brick home that was situated in the shadow of the international global offices of Eastman Kodak Company, and which today still stands close to where now stands Frontier Field.
It was a double house, in which I lived on one side with my mother Frances, father Herbie Pompeii, sister Pamela, and Aunt Mary, who was one of my mom’s six sisters. Next door was my mother’s sister Elva, her husband Carl Easton, and their daughter and my dear cousin Evie, aka “Eva.”
My parents had ten brothers and sisters each, which meant that my extended family was significant in size with several aunts, uncles, and first, second, and third cousins, Infinitum.
Many of my family’s closest friends were also raised in the Erie Street neighborhood and had moved away but always frequent return visits, sometimes just for morning coffee with my parents and various family members at breakfast.
Our house on Erie Street was the main hub for the core holidays of Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, and so forth, while almost every week there was some member of our large extended family who was celebrating a birthday at one home or another.
