It just dawned on me, walking my dog as I came up the sidewalk in front of my house and looked at the “for sale” sign perched so invitingly there in my front yard, that someone else lives in my house now. Not this house… the home I grew up in. My childhood home — the only house I ever lived in until I purchased my first house when I was around 27. The new couple has been there for almost two years now. I don’t know anything about them. I don’t know if they’re young or old. I don’t know if they’re still there.
I feel like I should send them a letter and let them know what they bought. A letter to tell them about all the memories in my house. I wonder if they know I used to sneak in and out of my bedroom window… we all did. It was a well-known fact among my friends that my window was the easiest way to gain access to my house — everyone knew it except my parents. I wonder if they know there is hard wood in the hallway under that carpet and I used to practice sock skating and played with my Evil Knievel wind-up motorcycle endlessly there. I wonder if they know that my parents used the big closet in their bedroom to hide (unsuccessfully) all the Christmas presents… each year… as if we never knew. Sometimes, I just wonder.
I wonder if they know about all the memories in the yard. I wonder if they know that we had those three perfectly placed trees for 1st, 2nd, and 3rd base. I wonder if they know how all the neighborhood kids used to gather there and play until it was too dark to see anymore. I wonder if they know about that boat that my dad kept in the backyard — so long that a tree grew out of it. I wonder if they know how I planted that evergreen when I was in high school. I wonder if they know I used to make jelly with my grandmother out of those grapes growing on the back fence. Sometimes, I just wonder.
I wonder if they know about all the memories on the front steps. I wonder if they know my brother and his “band” used to set up there and entertain the neighborhood. I wonder if they know all the goodnight kisses I had on those steps. I wonder if they know how meticulously my father decorated the porch for every holiday — ever. I wonder if they know how we used to jump off the end of the porch and clear those bushes in one bound while we were playing tag. I wonder if they know my father would stand on those steps and whistle so loudly that we could never get away with saying we didn’t hear. Sometimes, I just wonder.
Sometimes, I just wonder. I wonder do they know all about these things? I wonder what memories they’re making in my old house. I wonder who will buy my current house — I hope they have memories here. Good memories. New memories.
I used to think the house held all the memories. But it’s the people. We hold all the memories. I wonder what memories my children and I will make in our new home. Sometimes, I just wonder.
My bedroom was just to the right of the front door in this picture.
And I wanted to share my new favorite song by my new favorite group, Grace Potter and the Nocturnals. I think the words to this song are very powerful, they give me hope — not to mention the awesome singing… enjoy.
Yet another great post, Becky. Mom and Dad moved out of the Westwood house. They live on King Street now. When I’m in Tullahoma, I drive by the old house, and I have to say it depresses me a little that someone else owns it.
Hey Rich! Thanks so much. I haven’t driven by the old neighborhood in at least a year. But I always glance at your old house! I just found out that the couple that bought my parents old house is selling it.
Thanks for reading.
(ps — MT was a blast!)
I have had similar feelings about the farm where I grew up. We sold the parcel that had the house and out buildings about this time last year. My sister drove by it last time she went down to see our mother. I guess the new owners are making a lot of changes. I don’t want to see it. I would prefer to remember it as it was.
It was particularly hard for me because I always considered it home. Since moving out I have mostly lived in apartments. They weren’t home, they were just a place where I slept. I have been very transient and when I got bored, I would just pick up and move. I have no real fond memories of any of them. Home for me was the farm and it is gone now.
Becky, your words never fail to touch me, sparking long forgotten memories of mostly good times. Thank you!
Thanks Mary. When my grandmother moved out of her home and in with my parents after my grandfather died, whenever we went to Missouri to visit people I longed so much to be in her house. It was hard not being able to hang out there on our visits.
Thanks for reading!
Memories, I plant them all over the world, tuck them here and hide them there, l let them go in bubbles too so that some day when walking I’ll run into one and it will surprise me.
Amazing about memories and the wonders they trigger, just reading this I see your memories loud and clear.
thank you for the trip down memory lane…
building more memories daily
I think you answered your own question in the end:
“I used to think the house held all the memories. But it’s the people.”
So they probably don’t know, but you do. They have their own memories, but it is people that hold memories, not things. The things help us remember the memories, but it is our hearts that are the containers that protect precious memories.
When I first drove by my childhood home I had thoughts like you shared, but then I noticed all the changes they made and realized that, no, they didn’t know, and it was not their place to know because they are my memories, and they are busy making their own precious memories.
That is what is so great about memories, we can take them wherever we go. AND, we can share them. Such fun. Even if they bring up sad feelings.
“…our hearts that are the containers that protect precious memories.”
That is pure poetry Terre. Beautiful, I wish I would have written that.
Thank you for always being so helpful and positive and making me think,
You are SO right about the people holding the memories, B! As Terre said, our hearts are the containers. We moved so much when I was a child, I can’t even tell you what states I’ve lived in. And until old age takes my mind, I’ll still have the memories of the people and events. You and the kids will make wonderful memories in your new house that they will carry with them forever.
LOVED the video and Grace Potter. So it gave me an idea ~ how about if all of the cool girls {and boys if they want to join in} get our noses pierced? With a tiny diamond stud? And maybe a tiny tattoo. I’m adding nose piercing to my 2010 to-do list! Love ya! *big squishy hugs*
Nose piercing in 2010…hmmm — send me a picture!
I am loving Dani’s *big squishy hugs* she doles out so generously.
(I got one too!)
Cool.
Yep! She’s good that way.
*group big squishy hugs*
Thanks Dani — again…
What great memories. I firmly believe that kids today have no idea how to have real fun…like running around the neighborhood on foot, bikes (or in my case, on horseback). We had ablast…pony nad horse rides, playing “rodeo”, building forts, collecting pop bottles to return for the deposit and buy gobs of candy, etc. …and they think playing video games and fooling around on the computer are fun. HAH! Poor things don’t know what real fun is!
Horseback? That sounds like a cool neighborhood Laurette!
Makes me a little melancholy. Longing for those sweet carefree days of childhood!
That’s good — wait…no, that’s bad.