madeleines

[topaz]

Quinn standing outside the house where I grew up:



The glass in the door is new but otherwise the front of the house has not changed. The iron gate, the stoop, the wooden doors, even the serifed house numbers on the wall -- all exactly the same as they were when I was eighteen, when I was twelve, when I was five. He wanted to go in. I said we couldn't because it's not our house any more.

As we were driving away I watched a woman in her early fifties jogging down the street with two big white dogs. She turned in and as I passed I watched her opening the door at 396 and shooing her dogs inside. I slowed down and nearly said something.

Then I swallowed and kept driving.

Comments

[lifecollage.livejournal.com]

Most excellent. A true New York moment, as it were.

Relatedly, I have to say that Q is one of the cuter kids on the planet. His expressions get me every time.

[qwrrty.livejournal.com]

Man, this was a weekend filled with New York moments. I love that town.

Relatedly, I have to say that Q is one of the cuter kids on the planet. His expressions get me every time.

Aww, what a sweet thing to say! Not sure everyone agrees (http://www.flickr.com/photos/qwrrty/2506758057/in/set-72157605152437039/) though.

[weegoddess.livejournal.com]

That picture is priceless!

[mzrowan.livejournal.com]

Nice title. ;-)

[laura47.livejournal.com]

my god, are you putting that kid in a stretching rack? how tall is he now?

[weegoddess.livejournal.com]

I actually did knock on the door of my childhood home. When they answered, I explained that I grew up in the house, asked them how long they'd lived there, who they'd bought it from, what happened to the big willow in the front yard, asked how the pink dogwood that we'd planted was doing (it was huge now, or as huge as dogwoods get) and stuff like that. I guess they must have thought that I was harmless (and clearly I knew enough about the house history to be telling some sort of truth) because they invited me inside to see what they'd done with it.

It was the possibly the most emotional experience of my life. It felt like seeing an old dear friend who was wearing new clothes. I cried like a baby; couldn't help it. A lot of stuff happened in that house, not all of it good. But it was my history and as I love me, I own what made me, well, me.

I may go back again someday.

[moominmolly.livejournal.com]

I recently went in the house that I lived in my whole life until my brothers and I sold it at the predictable juncture a few years back. The only thing that saved me from having the lump in my chest rise into my throat (or worse, my eyes) was the marvelous restoration job the new owners had done. She was a painter and had painted murals everywhere, an improbable act on a stodgy 125-year-old house, but somehow, it worked.

I remember going to my mom's childhood home when I was probably about Q's age. We knocked on the door but nobody answered; she patted a tree longer than made sense to me at the time.

[(Anonymous)]

I wish I had been with you. I would have rung the bell and told the lady that this was my son who grew up in this house and we'd love to see how it looks now.