...is where the heart is.
when i was little i always thought that our house was the best house ever. chipped paint & all it stood out amongst the rest on the block. how could it not with it’s bright, lime green paint blinding every passerby on the ever so cracked sidewalk lining the block we called home? our house was not majestic or palacial, nor was it a home fit for a king. but it had, um…. character. 😛
the living room had green carpet & green wallpaper covering the one MAIN wall. actually, as a child i remember before the green wallpaper, we had a HUGE wall to wall mural of a mountainscape plastered to the wall for all to um…. admire. 🙂 we had white Victorian furniture (the kind dollhouses are crafted after) & ours had an extra special flare… it was covered in plastic. you wouldn’t dare take a nap on the couch for fear of having to peel yourself off of it. i never really did understand my mom’s style. we had geisha dolls on the piano, peacocks on the wall, trinkets from Graceland on the shelves & a white floor lamp shaped like a blossoming flower.
the basement had character of it’s own. it had wall to wall disco red carpeting, an extra bedroom, an office, a bar & a laundry room. it was the coolest place (temperature-wise) in the house. it was the darkest when the lights were off – much like a cave, so that was where my mom hibernated after her 3rd 16 hour shift in a row.
when you took the time to sit quietly in the house, you would actually be able to hear it creak… i was convinced that that house was haunted… and i prayed each night that if there was a ghost he/she would let us live harmoniously as one big happy family…ghost & all. and i guess we had some sort of unspoken agreement because aside from the creaking & what i could’ve sworn were footsteps – he/she never crossed the boundaries my imagination would allow me to believe.
i don’t know what it is about childhood & a child’s perception that changes when you become an adult. i pass by the house every time i’m in town. i get a little nostalgic each & every time yet somehow, the house looks smaller, more plain & less extraordinary than i had remembered. i think i saw it in a movie once (not sure which one) but I imagine how great it would be if i had tons of money (of course, cuz my childhood home MUST be worth tons of money) & how i would walk up the front doorsteps, ring the doorbell & tell the person who answers that i want to buy my house back. i imagine the owner saying, “oh but it’s not for sale”. then in true movie-like fashion i whip out my checkbook & with an exaggerated wink, i say, “oh but it is… how much?” 😛
on a recent boring night i decided to Google my childhood address. my house, THE house is for sale. all of a sudden, i knew i had to have it. it was bank-owned, no longer lime green & looked dilapidated & sad. Sad like an orphaned puppy, which made me want it even more. so i drafted the possibilites in my mind & after long deliberation, i realized that there were NO possibitites. 😦 was i crazy? after all, what would i do with it? i guess a part of me believes that my childhood, my memories & my mom are all wrapped up in that little house 😦 and i remind myself that all of those were never left there, but are with me always – no matter where life takes me. 🙂
underneath the new coat of paint is still that creaky old house, full of character that we called home.. and i do hope my orphaned little house finds life once again.
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