My house, in the middle of the street...
So I was reading one of the several blogs that I just randomly found while back – gotta love blog surfing - and he was writing about his parents selling his childhood home and how poignant the memories were of it. And it struck a chord in me. My parents also sold my childhood home about 3 years ago. I remember going to the first Christmas at the new house and it just felt wrong. Mind you, they did sell that house a year later, so the next Christmas was in their latest home. That first holiday though was a killer.
My parents had owned that home since about 1979. I had originally shared a room and bunk bed with my brother and I remember the ugly green carpet we had. My grandmother, aunt and uncle had lived with us for a bit, taking over the basement. Imagine 4 adults, 1 teen and 2 kids living in a house with only 1 bathroom.
When they moved out, I got to take the room in the basement. Somehow I got the smallest room, but it worked out. It had dark brown wood paneling on the walls, a mottled blue rug, and one small window. At night, it was pitch black, except when the neighbors turned on the outside lights. I love that room. And I mean, love, not loved. I still remember the warm cocooning that the room had. The only problem was the closet doors. One didn’t line up with the side and so there was this gap that I always had the feeling that something was watching me through.
I remember having just a regular bed and having what seemed like endless room to play. I remember having to kneel on the bed as I pulled the corner up to make the bed. I remember getting the waterbed when I was 12 or 13 and there being little space to move. But I still rearranged that room regularly.
I remember the hole we made in the door so my cat could get through and then later using the hole to watch what tv programs my parents were watching when I was supposed to be sleeping
I remember the posters of Corey Hart, Bryan Adams and Platinum Blonde being on my ceiling. They were arranged so that every morning when I awoke, I opened my eyes to Corey Hart staring down at me, roll to one side and there was Bryan and roll just a bit to the other side and there were the Blondes. I remember mom getting mad that I had taped pictures all over the paneling and when the pictures were removed, spending endless nights colouring the paneling in with pencil crayons, trying to match the colors and the wood grain.
I remember dad refinishing the hardwood floors that had been under the hideous carpet in the living room and learning that you should always use a sander in the corner first, not the door way. I remember dancing to music and sliding in my socks across the hardwood and down the hallway.
I remember screaming at my mother as we both fought for dominance, for acceptance, for independence.
I remember my parents moving out to an acreage with my brother, both to raise dogs and to get my brother with a better crowd. I remember the first Christmas there being weird and then having to come home early cause the house was broken into and then spending the nights there alone while the rest of the family was at the acreage.
I remember spending endless nights up with my roommate L, her sitting in the doorway of her bedroom, me sitting in the bathroom doorway, talking about anything and everything until the wee hours.
I remember locking the door to my room and throwing shoes at my closet doors so no one could hear me cry after my boyfriend had taken me for a ride in his truck, and while Garth Brooks was playing “The Dance”, he broke up with me.
I remember the stairs to the kitchen being the perfect height for me and another guy to ‘get it on’ against the wall.
I remember using a weed eater to mow the lawn before L and I had bought a lawn mower.
I remember long talks, back rubs and play fighting with another roommate LH before he left with no notice, owing me tons of money and ruining our friendship.
I remember standing at the back gate, looking at the sky, just thinking, on cool nights when the sky was so clear.
I remember moving out, so my brother could move in to go to post-secondary in the city. I remember my parents moving back to the city.
I remember my parents tearing down 2 of 3 huge spruce trees in the front yard and then the hedges that separated the street from our front yard.
I remember my parents telling me they were selling the house, and I swear…
I felt my heart break just a bit.
So many years spent in one place. D accuses me of having deep roots and I really can’t deny it. While yes, my life moves on and houses change. I can still just close my eyes and remember how secure I felt in that house, both in happy times and sad. The memory of that house is like a warm blanket I can wrap around me when I am feeling a little down and though new people have moved in and goodness knows, it is not the same now, in my head, it stands like a beacon in my life, always steady, always there.
My parents had owned that home since about 1979. I had originally shared a room and bunk bed with my brother and I remember the ugly green carpet we had. My grandmother, aunt and uncle had lived with us for a bit, taking over the basement. Imagine 4 adults, 1 teen and 2 kids living in a house with only 1 bathroom.
When they moved out, I got to take the room in the basement. Somehow I got the smallest room, but it worked out. It had dark brown wood paneling on the walls, a mottled blue rug, and one small window. At night, it was pitch black, except when the neighbors turned on the outside lights. I love that room. And I mean, love, not loved. I still remember the warm cocooning that the room had. The only problem was the closet doors. One didn’t line up with the side and so there was this gap that I always had the feeling that something was watching me through.
I remember having just a regular bed and having what seemed like endless room to play. I remember having to kneel on the bed as I pulled the corner up to make the bed. I remember getting the waterbed when I was 12 or 13 and there being little space to move. But I still rearranged that room regularly.
I remember the hole we made in the door so my cat could get through and then later using the hole to watch what tv programs my parents were watching when I was supposed to be sleeping
I remember the posters of Corey Hart, Bryan Adams and Platinum Blonde being on my ceiling. They were arranged so that every morning when I awoke, I opened my eyes to Corey Hart staring down at me, roll to one side and there was Bryan and roll just a bit to the other side and there were the Blondes. I remember mom getting mad that I had taped pictures all over the paneling and when the pictures were removed, spending endless nights colouring the paneling in with pencil crayons, trying to match the colors and the wood grain.
I remember dad refinishing the hardwood floors that had been under the hideous carpet in the living room and learning that you should always use a sander in the corner first, not the door way. I remember dancing to music and sliding in my socks across the hardwood and down the hallway.
I remember screaming at my mother as we both fought for dominance, for acceptance, for independence.
I remember my parents moving out to an acreage with my brother, both to raise dogs and to get my brother with a better crowd. I remember the first Christmas there being weird and then having to come home early cause the house was broken into and then spending the nights there alone while the rest of the family was at the acreage.
I remember spending endless nights up with my roommate L, her sitting in the doorway of her bedroom, me sitting in the bathroom doorway, talking about anything and everything until the wee hours.
I remember locking the door to my room and throwing shoes at my closet doors so no one could hear me cry after my boyfriend had taken me for a ride in his truck, and while Garth Brooks was playing “The Dance”, he broke up with me.
I remember the stairs to the kitchen being the perfect height for me and another guy to ‘get it on’ against the wall.
I remember using a weed eater to mow the lawn before L and I had bought a lawn mower.
I remember long talks, back rubs and play fighting with another roommate LH before he left with no notice, owing me tons of money and ruining our friendship.
I remember standing at the back gate, looking at the sky, just thinking, on cool nights when the sky was so clear.
I remember moving out, so my brother could move in to go to post-secondary in the city. I remember my parents moving back to the city.
I remember my parents tearing down 2 of 3 huge spruce trees in the front yard and then the hedges that separated the street from our front yard.
I remember my parents telling me they were selling the house, and I swear…
I felt my heart break just a bit.
So many years spent in one place. D accuses me of having deep roots and I really can’t deny it. While yes, my life moves on and houses change. I can still just close my eyes and remember how secure I felt in that house, both in happy times and sad. The memory of that house is like a warm blanket I can wrap around me when I am feeling a little down and though new people have moved in and goodness knows, it is not the same now, in my head, it stands like a beacon in my life, always steady, always there.
posted by Taryn at 9:34 pm
1 Comments:
Yes, I was a bryan adams fan back when he was relatively cute and didn't look like the before ad for zit cream. He's canadian and he rocked back then with Summer of '69. Then he did that thing with Sporty Spice. I forgave the Anne Murray song cause it was okay, but the Sporty Spice song - my respect for him plummented.
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