All of the homes in my childhood neighborhood had attics...hot, stuffy places where Christmas decorations, family treasures in trunks and boxes were stored. In most homes, the attics were accessed through a door in the bedroom hall. When you opened the door, you had to climb up on a platform before climbing the few steps into the attic. But that wasn't the way it was at my house. My parents saw more potential in this space than just a way to get to attic. They kept the stairs to the attic, but closed off the direct attic access, making a great closet for my mother to store all her sewing supplies and materials. A pull down, folding ladder, was put in the ceiling of the hallway to get to the attic. I can still smell the odor that came from the attic as the ladder was pulled down and put in place.
If you've seen "National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation", then you've seen the attic of my childhood home. I don't think anyone in the family ever got stuck up there and had to put on layers of clothing to keep warm or drag out a film projector to pass the time. But it was always an adventure, when as a kid, you were allowed to go up in the attic to retrieve something. The admonition before entering the attic was to be careful to step only on the few boards that were laid over the rafters. Mother and Dad didn't want to have the experience of seeing a kid's foot coming through the ceiling.
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