The Last Time
This morning I went to the house I grew up in for the last time. Mom and Dad and I jammed the dining room rug into the Explorer to take to Mercer, for cleaning. Movers picked up the furniture a week ago. The rooms look huge, having been emptied of 30-years' accumulation of stuff. The windows are so tiny, though, compared to mine. Silly colonial revival!
I didn't really tour the house, just wandered through until I found Mom gathering a few stray things in the bathroom. The bathroom -- the other one, the sib's and mine -- is one of the first things I remember from touring the new, empty house. Being 5 or so, of course I had to use it. There were no curtains, and the trees were skinny so I could see Robious Road easily -- I felt way too exposed. Of course, it was still a lonely, windy road in the early 70s. No one was looking.
Back downstairs to putz around with the rug. It kinda go stuck in the back door, so I dashed out the front door to come around and pull: a last dash through the sprinkler. While the folks debated finer points of stuffing the rug in the car, I idly pulled my last few weeds from that garden. NOT from the freakin driveway, though.
I made my last left turn out of the driveway a couple of years ago, before they widened Robious to four lanes, divided. Today I took a right and then a U-turn, without looking back.
I made my last phone call to that number about 25 minutes later, just as Dad did find Mercer, making Mom's advice unnecessary. (She seemed to have gone on to Bon Air Library, anyway.)
2 comments:
Beautifully written and evocative account of your last visit to the old homestead. I feel 30 years younger myself after reading it. I can almost see the sprinklers, the lemonade stand, and the other appurtenances of a new suburban yard. When I next look in the mirror I will half-expect to see a child's reflection staring back at me!
Wow.
I didn't help my 'rents move out of the Walkersville house...just, one day, they weren't living there anymore. On a bizarre note, they'd sold the place to the girl I'd taken to the high school Prom and her Serbian husband. I never felt terribly attached to that house anyway. I've walked past the Conkling street house and the house in Timonium, and they spark more nostalgia.
Oddly, I feel some nostalgia for the Robious Road house, which I visited precisely twice. I spent the night there once and was awakened by Chessie the cat, who had decided that her mission was to be my alarm clock. I also helped to feed the multiple kitties when, one week, the senior Krolls were out of town. I then spent a somewhat aggravating hour trying to capture Maggie, who decided to go missing while Brian and I were attempting to feed her.
Though I logged no more than ten hours in that house, I will always associate it with happy memories and a family that's been rather significant in my life. And so goodbye, Midlothian...goodbye...
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